


A Quiet Hope for the Future

by AfterGlow13



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boomerang Deserves His Own Warning, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, I Started This Three Years Ago and it Wasn't Supposed to Get This Big, I Wrote This to Deal with Life and it Kept Happening, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Not Researched, Self-Harm, Suicide, self-destructive behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19451206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfterGlow13/pseuds/AfterGlow13
Summary: You know those stories where June leaves to get help? This isn't one of them."“How's your girl doing?” Lawton asks as Rick finishes seeing him safely back into his old cell at Belle Reve Prison. The trip back from seeing his daughter had been quiet, for the most part. Mostly just Lawton talking about his little girl.“June is alright,” Rick answers honestly, and he feels a quiet hope for the future.When he gets home, he finds June in bed. When he'd left two days ago he'd pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting her sleep in. It's almost 3pm now. The coffee he'd left perking away merrily for when she did wake up is untouched."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please take care of yourselves, folks. Reminder to drink water, take a shower, and talk to your friends and family. Take it from me, they need you more than you know and will do anything to keep you around.

“How's your girl doing?” Lawton asks as Rick finishes seeing him safely back into his old cell at Belle Reve Prison. The trip back from seeing his daughter had been quiet, for the most part. Mostly just Lawton talking about his little girl. 

“June is alright,” Rick answers honestly, and he feels a quiet hope for the future.

When he gets home, he finds June in bed. When he'd left two days ago he'd pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting her sleep in. It's almost 3pm now. The coffee he'd left perking away merrily for when she did wake up is untouched.

“June?” he asks, sitting down at the edge of the bed. Her hair is greasy when he runs his fingers through it.

She shifts slightly and opens her eyes. “Hey,” she says. “Back already?”

He nods, tries to smile but feels like crying. He keeps running his fingers through her hair and hopes it helps her as much as it's helping him. “Babe, have you been in bed this entire time?”

Rick watches her face closely, hoping for the answer to what's bothering her even though he already knows. Her eyebrows draw together and her eyes lose focus. He's seen that look before, when she was thinking about Enchantress. “Not entirely. I just didn't have the motivation to do anything. I'm tired.”

“It's okay,” he breathes out as he pulls her forward into a hug. “It's okay.” They stay like that for a long time, until he pulls June out of bed with him for some food.

Rick gets assigned permanently to Task Force X, as it is officially called. After the handshakes, Waller pulls him aside and asks in a low voice, “You going to fight this?” He hears the implied threat, has worked with her more than enough to know which strings she would pull. She had arranged for June to see a psychologist once a week, and when he had asked for it had agreed to pay for two meetings a week. He knew that on paperwork June had never worked for the government and that it was just Waller's will keeping the paperwork in the right order so that June's med bills were paid for. He also knew that they could never pay those bills, let alone for the apartment and food and everything else. So he just shook his head and said, “No, ma'am.”

Not that Rick wanted to fight it, anyway. They were a bunch of nutjobs and criminals, but... they'd had his back. He knew Waller would only save his life if it were somehow useful to her, but these people protected him because... he wouldn't fool himself and say it was because they liked him. Honestly, he wasn't quite sure why they'd helped him. Maybe it was some strange sort of respect. He knew them now, or at least he'd worked with them before and lived to tell the tale. He suspected that was more than many other people would be able to say. Another man might not hesitate to blow their heads off, like he definitely would now. Another man might not take Lawton his letters, or let Harley steal purses, or whatever else crazy-ass thing the team decided to do next. Another man might not mourn if – when – they died, like he already had.

He’s part of the Suicide Squad now.

Waller accepts his answer and leaves him to be debriefed by men under her control. Rick breaths a sigh of relief. His duties are pretty much to sit with his thumb up his ass until the next mission comes around, so he can't complain. He is given access to the special armoury set-up within a mile of Belle Reve to store the Squad's equipment, confiscated belongings, and other... oddities. Harkness had some fucked-up shit on inventory. 

He’s looking through it all with a raised eyebrow when the paper pusher, Edwards, says, “Oh, you also have an open pass to Belle Reve. Twenty-four-hour access, not that there’s any expectations or obligations. Ms. Waller specifically said there are no expectations attached.”

Rick feels his eyebrow hitch higher at that. They're giving him a pass they expect him not to use? Well, of course. Who goes to visit expendable criminals? Waller is a cold bitch. He wonders if she actually thought he would use it or not, then decides that figuring it out isn’t worth the headache. 

It’s another few days until he can try out his free pass, and just over two months since he escorted Lawton back from Gotham. He hasn’t seen any of the squad since then, besides the occasional report on Harley. It doesn’t look like any of them will be seeing her any time soon. 

For a moment Rick thinks the warden who comes out to meet him is Griggs, but his jaw line is wrong. Same short-cut brown hair, same mean eyes, however. “We didn’t think you’d actually come all the way out here,” he says, mockingly.

“Clearly, you thought wrong,” Rick says. The other man takes in his expression, then shakes his head. He doesn’t seem quite as stupid as Griggs was, so maybe their working relationship will be bearable. Rick grudgingly holds out a hand to shake, and the warden takes it, grunting out, “Toms.”

Toms shows him to his office. It is as ugly and uncomfortable as the rest of Belle Reve, but the computer equipment looks up to date, and the desk chair looks well padded. The guest chairs, Rick finds with a grimace, not so much. “These visits going to happen every time?”

“No, no, I’m just going to go over some base rules.” Toms takes a thermos of coffee out of his desk, unscrews the top, and pours some into a white mug with Belle Reve printed on the side in black letters. The smell is bitter. “I understand Waller has her special project based out of here, and I’m not going to interfere with that. I’m too well paid to be that stupid. But this is still a prison, and I can’t just have you prancing around here whenever you like, wherever you like. So, you will sign in and report your plan when you arrive, be escorted at all times, and sign out when you leave. Understood?”

Rick nods. “Yeah.” Frankly, he would be a little concerned if it were any other way.

Toms gives him a look. Rick raises an eyebrow, and Toms leans forward. “Look,” he says, “You’re a reasonable guy, a military man. Not some bleeding heart. What are you doing here?”

“I’m just doing my job,” he answers, blandly.

Toms snorts.

Ten minutes and one phone call later Rick is standing in from of Lawton’s cell. The guard sent to escort him, Perez, stands a little way off, giving them something like privacy. Rick appreciates it, not that he deludes himself into thinking anything about these visits will be secret. He opens the hatch to see into Lawton’s cell and finds the man lying on his bed, reading a letter. Rick bets it is one of the ones Zoe sends daily; after the first mission, Rick made sure that all the letters have been making their way to him. He owes him that much.

Lawton looks up and the wet shine in his eyes confirms his bet in the worst way. Lawton blinks and a grin breaks across his face. “Rick, I wasn’t expecting your ugly mug on the other side of my door.” Rick doesn’t mention the way Lawton blinks quickly and rubs at his eyes. He comes to stand in front of the door. “What’s up, man?”

“I’ve been permanently assigned as leader of the squad. Thought I’d exercise some of the perks. See if I could get some shitty prison coffee.”

“Oh? Get any?”

“Nah. They’re all out.”

“Too bad.” Lawton takes a half-step closer to the door. “Hey, man, have you heard anything about Harley? They won’t tell us anything.”

“Nothing but the occasional news report. It sounds like she is having a good time, though. Her and the Joker held a fashion show hostage for a night and stole most of the clothes,” he says with a shake of his head. Even though he disapproves, he can’t judge Harley for her fun. She’s… something special.

Lawton chuckles. It is a low, dry sound, that makes Rick grin a little in response. “That’s good, that’s good,” he says.

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” Rick promises.

“You better,” he says, still smiling. “So why are you really here, anyway?”

“Like I said, I’ve been permanently assigned. That means I get certain things, like twenty-four/seven access to this place.” He says, gesturing around himself dismissively. He notices Lawton following the ark of his hand, and noticing his casual t-shirt, jeans, and jacket. He suddenly feels slightly self-conscious, but doesn’t understand why. Probably just because he is out of uniform in front of a professional killer. “I’ve, uh, also got access to all your personal effects.”

“Oooh, Waller is trusting you with my toys? She really must think a lot of you.” Rick snorts automatically, before realizing there is some actual heat behind those words. There is an imbalance of power between them, and Rick needs to remember that. Pointing out that Rick could mess with his stuff, his life, probably isn’t a good idea.

“I’m not going to touch it,” he mutters. 

“Good. I’d hate to have to hurt your ugly face.” The threat is still in his voice, but it probably always will be. Lawton isn’t a trusting man.

“If my face is so ugly why would it matter if you hurt it?”

Lawton chuckles. “Good point, man. For the sake of your girl, then, I’d hate to have to break your face.”

Rick feels the usual stab of worry that the mere thought of June now causes. He sighs. He should get a move on; it is a long drive back home, and he’d told June he’d be back for supper.

“How they been treating you, man? Getting everything Waller promised you? All your letters?”

Lawton, nods along, saying, “Yeah, man, everything. But if you’re looking for things to buy me, I got a few suggestions.”

“Save ‘em for the next mission. You see the others?” Not that there are many of them left in Belle Reve: just Harkness and Jones. Christ.

“Nah, I don’t see anyone.” Rick nods. That makes sense; everyone in Belle Reve is permanently in solitary confinement. 

“Alright. I better go check on them.” Rick shifts his weight, then notices the look on Lawton’s face. His mouth is turned down at the corners, his shoulders slumped slightly. He looks disappointed. Rick thinks back to his last comment, about not seeing anyone, and understands.

“I’ll be back next week,” he says. It’s all he can do.

He spends even less time with the others. Waylon is his usual talkative self, meaning he spends a few minutes talking to an apparently empty cell before the man surfaces and growls that he is ‘alright.’ Harkness spends the entire time screaming at him. Rick makes a mental note to bring him something next time as an act of appeasement. He doesn’t like the man, and it’s his own damn fault, but he’s squad, and that means something. Besides, judging by how hoarse his voice sounds, Rick probably isn’t the only one he yells at, so bringing him something to shut him up might score him points with the warden.

Fuck, he’s starting to think like Waller.

He has a long drive home to let that particular revelation sink in. 

Arriving home is like a sudden breath of fresh air after drowning. June greets him with a kiss on the cheek, an apron wrapped around her hips, the smell of frying garlic and cheese heavy in the air. Today she had an appointment with her psychologist, and clearly it went well. They still had a long way to go, but Rick was looking forward to more days like these. The rest of his days, if he has his way.

“Good day?” he asks, smiling down into June’s blue eyes. God, she’s beautiful. That little crease appears between her eyebrows, but her eyes remain bright and present.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck. She pulls him down into a long, deep kiss. Her fingers start rubbing up and down his back, first in little circles, then longer lines, soon covering all his skin. He breaks the kiss, chest heaving, and asks, “What about whatever’s in the oven?”

“It can wait,” she gasps, and he agrees.

Later that night, after sex, cuddles, dinner, more sex and cuddles, June drifts off easily. As long as Rick has known her, she has always had a difficult time falling asleep, tossing and turning. She once told him that Enchantress made her nervous to sleep, that she was never certain where and how she would wake up. And he gets that. He really gets that. He only had the horrible pleasure of Enchantress’s presence for a few months, but she terrified the crap out of him. He can’t imagine having her living in your head. So, the fact that June falls asleep within minutes is a good sign. They are starting to leave that nightmare portion of their lives behind.

He wakes up when he hears something odd, and instinctively reaches for his gun before he realizes it is June crying. She is sitting up in bed, hunched over herself, and only the lack of slime convinces him that somehow Enchantress isn’t back. June convulses, silent sobs shaking her small frame. One thing he will never get used to about women is how tiny they are. “June,” he whispers. He reaches out a hand, terrified that touching her would scare her somehow, break her. But he needs to touch, to reassure. She flinches slightly when his hand covers her shoulder, but doesn’t react in any other way. “June.” He pulls on her shoulder, moves in front of her, trying to get a look at her face, her beautiful blue eyes. She doesn’t react, just continues sobbing. It's muffled, he realizes, because she's biting her hand. “Love,” he says, voice strained. “What’s wrong?”

She finally seems to see him, but just continues to sob. She crashes into his chest, using his body to support her own. Her sobs become louder, no longer muffled, nearly screams. Each one feels to Rick as if someone were crushing his heart. He can’t do anything but sit there and hold her. If he were a religious man, he thinks he would pray. 

Eventually she runs out of energy, and her sobs fade to even breath. “June?” he asks.

“I’m okay,” she says, voice barely audible.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. He comes back with a damp cloth and a box of tissues. He pulls one out and hands it to her. She blows her nose while he gently runs the cloth along her puffy cheeks. He runs his hand along the one she was biting, but it feels fine. Once that’s done he just sits and stares at her, at a loss. He wasn’t trained for this situation.

June’s eyes are distant, puffy, her skin pale and streaked from tears. She looks… he doesn’t want to think about what she looks like. 

“June? What happened?” he finally asks.

She shrugs, her pale shoulder barely lifting. He waits for her to speak – it feels like an eternity. Her voice, when it does come, is so soft that he can barely hear her. “I guess… I had a dream… about… her….” Her right hand moves towards her mouth, but he catches it and holds it against his face. She finally looks him in the eyes and the pain he sees there is excruciating. 

He presses a gentle kiss to her hand. “It’s okay,” he mutters. “It’s okay.”

"So many, Rick," she whispers, "I killed so many."

"It wasn't you."

He holds her in his arms the rest of the night. He doesn’t think either of them sleep.

The rest of the week isn’t much better.

When he next goes to Belle Reve, Lawton takes one look at him through the tiny window and says, “Damn, Flag, have you gotten any sleep?”

Flag just gives him a tired grimace. 

Lawton raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, man, whatever, I don’t care. Why are you here again?”

Flag looks away. Why is he here? These people are killers. But, so is he. He’s done some fucked up shit. These people had more than earned his respect on the mission to stop Enchantress. But that didn’t make them friends.

Fuck, who was he kidding? Who else was he going to call his friend? Waller? Everyone he had called friend died on that mission. His team. Christ.

“Haven’t been sleeping.”

Lawton looks a little surprised at actually getting an answer. “So, what, you thought you’d come out here and catch a nap?”

“What?” Rick asks, confused. “No. No, I’m here to make sure you’re all alright. I–”

“I know, man, I’m messing with you. Trust me, the beds in this place ain’t that great. Hey, you should see this drawing Zoe sent me. She’s got some talent - should put her in lessons or something.” Lawton grabs a letter and hands it to Rick through the window. 

At the bottom of the page was a sketch of what appeared to be her bedroom window. There were four rectangles, and what looked like a park or maybe just a tree. Rick doesn’t think it is all that good, but he doesn’t say that. He just smiles and says, “You’re right.”

“’Course I’m right. My little girl’s going to be the next Mozart or something.”

“I’m pretty sure Mozart composed music.” 

“Hey, did you know the guy? He could have been an artist.”

“Right, I’m sure one of the best documented musicians was secretly a sketch artist.” Rick says. He could feel an honest grin starting to form on his face. Hell, what did he know, Mozart could have been an artist. To Rick, he was just another dead old white guy.

“Admit it, it could be possible,” taunts Lawton.

“You’re right,” Rick says in his most deadpan voice. Lawton laughs.

When he finishes, Lawton asks, “So, uh, what’s in the bag?”

Rick scratches at his chin. “Nothing for you.” He’d chosen a nondescript black bag that closed for a reason.

“Ah, you’re no fun.”

“And you’re a basket of kittens.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I love kittens.”

Rick snorts.

“I’m not sticking around to be lied to like this. I’ll see you next week.”

Rick would have stayed and bantered longer with Lawton, but he was uncomfortable leaving June alone for too long. He felt some of his happiness fade at the thought. It was already such a long trip to Belle Reve and back. Plus, he had a purpose, and he wasn’t sure how well it would turn out.

His interaction with Waylon consists of him asking who is winning the game, and his one-word answer, “Cubs.” Harkness is cursing the warden in very creative terms at the top of his lungs when he arrives. “Hey, Harkness.”

“You scrote, get me the FUCK OUT OF HERE!” Harkness roars.

“I can’t do that and you know it,” Rick says. Harkness is pacing around his cell like some sort of wild animal. It’s making him nervous. “But I did bring you something; you deserve it after that mission.”

“You brought me something? What, is it another goddamn CUNT GUARD to ignore me?” he yells at the security guard posted by his cell. She doesn’t even flinch – woman has balls. “Unless it’s a doori I don’t want none of it.”

“I got something out of your personal effects. I think you’ll want it.”

“You can do that? What is it? What is it? C’mon, show me!” Harkness commands. He pushes up against the door now, his nose almost flat.

“I will,” Rick promises. “But we’re going to have to open the door to give it to you. So you’re going to have to understand a few things. You try and escape or hurt anyone, you’re not getting it. If you do try and escape, you will be tased before you take five steps outta that cell. You so much as twitch in a way I don’t like, you will be tased. We clear?”

“What is it? Just show me what it is? Is it that bag? What’s in the bag?”

Harkness shows no signs of stopping. Rick shakes his head, grabs the bag, and opens it so that only Harkness can see the contents: one pink unicorn. It’s a risk, but it pays off; Harkness goes still when he sees it, and a soft look comes over his face. “We going to have problems, Harkness?” he asks.

“Nah, no problems,” Harkness says, backing away from the door, putting his hands above his head.

Rick nods. “Okay, open the door,” he says to the guard. She opens it, and he sets the bag just inside the door. She swings the door shut. Once it is locked, Harkness moves quickly to the bag, scooping it up and taking it to a corner, his back turned on the door and the camera in his cell. Rick thinks he can maybe hear him cooing, but he’s not sure. “Right. I’ll be back next week. We’ll see about getting you more stuff then.”

When he gets home, June is still in front of the TV. She’s been doing that more and more lately, as a way of avoiding sleep. She hasn’t showered in awhile, and he isn’t really sure if she’s eaten anything. When her body eventually gives in to sleep to keep her alive, he hears her whisper Enchantress’ name, and when she wakes she says in a broken voice that she dreamt of her. He doesn’t know what to do, how to help. He makes a mental note to ask her doctor if there is anything he can prescribe to help her sleep. For now he just sits on the couch beside her and stares mindlessly at the TV.

At some point between 3 and 4am with some old sitcom about housewives playing, June says, “I don’t think therapy is working.” She doesn’t look at him. He isn’t sure if she meant him to hear it or not.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. He doesn’t cry easily, but tears gather in his eyes now and spill down his cheeks. The weight of everything pushes down on him, and he feels like he doesn’t have the strength to lift a finger. He finds the strength for June. “Please don’t give up.”

She doesn’t answer for a long time. “I’ll try.”

He takes her hand in his. She’s so strong; always has been. Brave, smart, funny June. She’s been living a nightmare longer than he’s known her, and has done her best not to let it overtake her. He’s so proud. He just wishes-

“Please don’t cry,” she says. She kisses him, gently, and he does his best to smile for her as he takes her in his arms. They stay like that until long after the sun has risen, and the TV starts playing the morning news.

“You want breakfast?” he asks. Rick feels so hungry he might be sick; he hasn’t eaten anything since he left the day before. June must feel similarly. But -

“I’m not really hungry,” she says. As long as he has known her she’s eaten very little, but it’s gotten worse since they killed Enchantress. This isn’t how he imagined things would turn out.

Rick sighs and rubs at his tired eyes. “How long has it been since you last ate anything?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Anything since that banana yesterday morning?”

June shakes her head no.

“How does bacon and eggs and waffles sound?”

June smiles tiredly. “Sounds great, babe. Why don’t I mix up the waffles while you fry the bacon?”

He kisses her on the cheek then helps her to her feet. Cooking breakfast is almost… normal. Him and June banter and talk for the first time in what feels like days. The TV drones on endlessly in the background as he smears a little flour on her cheek. June laughs, scoops up a handful and throws it at him. He’s about to retaliate when something said on the TV catches his attention. He turns to look into the living room and finds a video of Harley and Joker running into a car with some henchclowns behind them. “… Batman arrived before anyone was killed, but several people were injured and are in hospital today after the late-night robbery. All are expected to make a full recovery. In world news, the Iranian government…”

June comes up behind him and circles her arms around him. “She’s fine,” she says.

“Yeah,” he agrees. Harley had looked fine in the video, running quickly, a scowl on her face. He couldn’t help but worry, though.

“Come on, I think the last waffle is done. Let’s eat.”

Breakfast is quiet. What little energy June had had is now gone, and she looks like she might fall asleep at any moment. She eats mechanically, and he wonders not for the first time if she really tastes anything. He kinda hopes she doesn’t; he isn’t a great cook, and the bacon is a little burnt, and the eggs taste oddly of soap. The waffles, however, are good.

She is still picking at her food when he finishes, and looks like she will be for a long time. “I’m going to take a shower,” he says. “You good?”

She looks up and nods, before returning her stare to her scrambled eggs, which she is pushing around her plate with her fork. Rick sighs, but doesn’t stay to watch her. The hot water of the shower feels nice on his sore muscles, and he stays in there for longer than he probably should. When he comes out dressed in clean clothes, June has moved back to the coach. Her plate is still on the table, food half eaten. He sighs, but doesn’t push it, just dumps everything into the compost before loading the dishwasher. Afterwards, he collapses into bed. The few hours sleep do him good.

He spends a couple hours on the phone with June’s doctors’ secretaries, and about ten minutes with her doctors, but he gets June an appointment for that day to get a prescription for some sort of sleeping pill. June takes a shower, then they’re off. “Thank you,” she says in the car. “I’m sorry -” 

“Hey,” he says, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t want to hear no apologies. I want to be here for you.”

She smiles and says, “Pig-headed.”

“Yeah,” he replies with a sly grin. “But what am I?”

She laughs and swats him across the shoulder with the back of her hand. “You’re awful.”

“Yeah,” he smiles.

The doctors prescribe June a sedative, spend two minutes explaining it, then send them off to the pharmacist, who sends twenty minutes explaining the drug. They’re giving her enough drugs that taking them all at once would be fatal, but Rick isn’t worried; June’s not that bad.

At home, they order in pizza then spend the rest of the evening in front of the TV watching a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon. Around midnight, when Rick’s been studying the backs of his eyelids more than the TV, June nudges him and says, “Let’s go to bed.”

June takes a pill and they go to bed. It’s the best sleep either of them have had in months.

In the morning, June kisses him hard on the mouth, her hand slipping down his chest into his pants. They shower and eat together. He thinks that this might be a real change for them; that everything, for the first time in a long time, is looking up.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

“Good. Better than I have in longer than I can remember, actually. I slept like a rock; I don’t remember anything after the drug kicked in.” She stretches, muscles moving in appealing ways. Rick watches, something light in his chest. “I want to go rock climbing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I haven’t since… her. Haven’t wanted to. But I think it’s time. I feel ready; I feel good. Plus, I want to see what you look like in a harness,” she says, the sly smile he loves on her face.

“What makes you think I’ll climb any rock?” he asks, knowing full well that he’d do anything before she even asked.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were scared of heights,” she teases.

“I’m not scared of nothin’,” he says, putting on a mock tough guy face.

“Then you’ve got no excuse.”

He smiles, then says. “You’ve never talked to me about rock climbing before.”

“I love it, the physicality. It’s like a puzzle that I need to solve in order to get anywhere; does my foot go in this hole, or this? If I put my hand here, can I put my foot there? And usually the places I climb no one else has seen, so it’s like I’m discovering an entirely new view of the world.”

He watches her face while she talks, the way it lights up, no shadow lurking in it. He’s never seen her like this before, but he wants to see this everyday. He hopes he can, that this beautiful creature can be his future.

“So, when are we going to go?”

They make plans for the next week, on a day the forecasters are saying will be sunny. Rick thinks it will be the first thing they’ve done that could count as a date; most everything else had been dinners paid for by Waller and the government, which no matter how good the company or the food, doesn’t count. This will be the first thing just for the two of them.

Later that day, June asks him how the squad is doing. “Good,” he says. And it’s true. The next time he goes in to visit, he finds Lawton grumbling about the food, and Waylon happily devouring his. He suppresses his shutter over that delightful sight until he is away from the cell. Harkness isn’t yelling, just sitting quietly in the corner curled around the unicorn. He looks miserable.

“How’s the food?” he asks.

“The food? Who the fuck cares about the food? I’ve got bigger concerns then that,” Harkness says, vaulting to his feet and over to the door. Like last time, he presses too close. Rick pushes down the urge to take a step back. He really doesn’t want to be that close to the other man’s mouth, but even more he doesn’t want to show weakness.

“Like what?” he asks, his feet firmly planted and arms crossed over his chest. He already feels tired of this conversation and it hasn’t even begun.

“I want a bed,” he says like he’s sharing some secret.

“A bed,” he repeats.

“Yeah, man, my back’s killing me,” he says, exaggeratedly rubbing at his back. “Think you can hook me up?”

Rick rubs at the scruff on his face. The idea behind the squad is that they get small rewards for completing a mission, and ten years off their sentence, and die before the government has to worry about actually letting them go free. It doesn’t sit right with Rick, however, especially that these people should have to risk their life for a simple bed. If he gets them the little things between missions, then they can ask for bigger things, like Lawton’s visits to his daughter, when they have missions.

“Sure,” he says.

“Sure?” Harkness laughs, loud, obnoxious. “I love this man!” he announces. “Say, think you could make it a king? Or a water bed? I’ve always wanted a water bed. Banged a Shelia once who had one – it was bonzer, the way the bed moved,” Harkness starts moving, and Rick is glad of the door which is blocking his view of the man’s body. He’s seen some shit, but there are still some things that make him queasy. “Ugh, yeah, she was a wild one-”

“Yeah, that’s enough. You’ll get a bed. It will not be a king. It will not be a water bed. You will take it or leave it.”

“Yeah, fine, fine, ya’ fuckin’ killjoy, now get out of here! Your ugly face is ruining my mood,” Harkness sneers. 

“See you next Tuesday,” Rick says over his shoulder as he leaves. Harkness just laughs.

The next few days pass with a fuck-ton of paperwork, all painstakingly filled out by Rick at the little desk in his apartment. He hates paperwork. At least he can stay at the apartment to do it, though, because June may be sleeping better but she’s far from okay. He still finds himself reminding her to move from her spot on the couch to eat, and her stare is listless. Rick goes for a run once a day. It’s a habit, one he’s had for years. When he realizes the day after his trip that he hasn’t gone on one for nearly a week, he just sighs and asks June if she wants to go with, and then says he’ll be back in an hour when she declines.

The run does him good. June hasn’t moved when he returns.

The sun rises onto a clear sky the day they’d planned to go rock climbing. Rick kisses June on the forehead when his alarm goes off, but she doesn’t stir. He gets up, eats breakfast, has a quick shower, and putters around the house for nearly three hours before he hears the shifting of sheets from the bedroom. He brings June in a cup of coffee. She smiles in thanks, but doesn’t say anything, and only holds the mug in her hands as she stares out the bedroom window. Rick sits on the edge of the bed and watches her for a few minutes. He thinks he knows what she’s going to say, but wants to hope that she won’t. Finally, he asks, “Still want to go rock climbing today?”

She shakes her head slightly, still staring out the window. “I don’t feel like it today. Sorry, babe.” He considers trying to convince her to go, that it will make her feel better to get out of the house, to get some exercise, to do something she loves, but doesn’t. He’s tried before and knows that there is nothing he can say. And it's not her fault.

“Want some breakfast to go with that coffee?” he asks.

“Sure,” she says, and finally takes a small sip. He leaves.

They spend a quiet day together that differs in no way from the day before or the day after. Rick feels like crying.

Several weeks pass, and Rick notices June slowly start to decline again. She doesn’t seem to be sleeping as well, even with the drugs. When she first started them she slept for nearly tens hours at a time, and woke up looking refreshed, one day further away the nightmare that had taken up residence within her head. But lately she’s been sleeping less, and even though all the outward signs of her nightmares are still gone, Rick thinks they’re back. She doesn’t talk about it with him. The doctors say to give it time, but Rick isn’t sure how much longer June can go on. She looks exhausted, dark bags under her eyes, and has lost weight. 

At least his visits to Belle Reve have become consistently good. He’s developed a good rapport with Lawton, Jones, and Harkness. At least, the three men tolerate his presence for what he can do for them. As long as they don’t actively want to maim or kill him, Rick’s happy. 

On his next visit, Lawton remarks upon seeing him, “Anything bad going on at home?”

“No,” Rick says unthinkingly. “Why do you ask?” he asks suspiciously.

“It’s nothing, just you look more tired each time I see you. Makes a guy wonder,” Lawton says, shrugging slightly. He doesn’t look like he wants to push the subject.

“Oh,” Rick says. “June’s been going through a rough time after the… you know.” Lawton nods. “Guess I haven’t been sleeping as well to try and be there for her.”

“That’s rough, man. Do you think she’s going to be okay?” Lawton sounds sympathetic.

“Yeah, eventually.”

Lawton nods, in that long slow way he has like he understands everything. Rick smiles a little, comforted somehow by the gesture.

“So, what’s the news from Zoe?”

“Ah, she’s trying to convince her mom to let her get a pet,” Lawton says, a laugh in his voice lighting up his dark eyes. “Her mom isn’t having any of it, doesn’t want another thing dependant on her, or taking up room in the apartment. Which is understandable, but Zoe would do all the work, and it doesn’t have to be a big pet. Although, a German Shepard or something would be cool.”

Rick smiles. “What does Zoe want?”

“I don’t know, she hasn’t really said. I think she’d be happy with a fish, or something tiny like that. But wouldn’t a German Shepard be good, man? Or some sort of guard dog? Little girl alone in Gotham City, can’t hurt. Plus, she could name it Killer or something badass like that. Just imagine.”

Rick chuckles. “You never had a pet growing up, did you?”

“Nah, but a guy who lived on the same floor in one of the apartment buildings my Mom and I lived in did. Big, fat, white guy, always wore a stained wife beater, you know the type. He had this little calico cat, tiny thing. I was – I was locked out, and the guy was taking out the garbage or doing his laundry or something, I don’t really remember, and the cat got out. He didn’t notice for awhile. The cat came and curled up with me where I was sitting. It had this great big purr.”

Rick notices the pause about why Lawton was locked out of the apartment, but doesn’t question it. Nor does he comment on the far away look in Lawton’s eyes. He just says, “Maybe Zoe would like a cat.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Lawton scrunches his face up. “I still say a big dog. Maybe not Killer, maybe Fang or Blade.”

“Tough guy name?” Rick asks, teasing.

“Yeah, yeah, exactly, tough guy name. Nothing Frou-Frou.” Lawton says. “What about you? Have any pets growing up?”

“Nah, Dad was moved around too much for us to get one. My brother begged for a snake, but Dad always said no.”

“What did your dad do?”

“Military.”

“I should have known you were an army brat,” Lawton teases.

“Oh, shut up,” Rick says. “What about me says ‘army brat’?”

“Uh, everything?” Lawton says with a laugh. “I bet if I cut you, you would bleed camo.”

“I can tell you for a fact that ain't true,” Rick contradicts.

“Oh? Name one thing about your life that isn’t army,” Lawton jokes.

Rick wants to say June, even opens his mouth to do so, but can’t. He realized long ago that Waller had sent him to June on purpose. They both had. It had stung, but they were too glad for the other to make much of it.

Something must have shown on his face, because Lawton says awkwardly, “Look, I’m sorry, man.”

“Not your fault,” Rick says, and smiles grimly. 

“Waller?” Lawton asks quietly, like he thinks she might be listening. Hell, she could be getting records of all his conversations for all he knows. Rick just nods.

“That bitch,” Lawton curses. Rick just nods again.

“To be fair, my life probably wouldn’t be any different if I didn’t work for her,” Rick says. Lawton just raises an eyebrow doubtfully. Rick laughs. “Alright, it would be different. But I would still be a military brat.”

Lawton laughs. “Damn right.”

Rick glances at his watch. “I should move on.”

“Yeah, course,” Lawton says, and if he looks disappointed, he doesn’t sound it, and Rick sure as hell doesn’t comment. He supposes it’s lonely in Belle Reve. “See you next week, man.”

“Yeah, you know it.”

As Rick turns Perez, standing at his usual spot down the hall just on the edge of hearing, gives him a look like he’s questioning his sanity. He covers it quickly, but it was definitely there. Rick raises an eyebrow challengingly and Perez looks away, shaking his head slightly. Good. He doesn’t need shit for having a conversation with someone under his command.

Waylon is sitting quietly in his cell watching what looks to be a nature documentary on mute when Rick arrives. The big man stands and walks to the door. “Hey,” he grumbles.

“Hey,” Rick says with a nod. “How are things?”

“Good,” Waylon says. “You’ve been keeping up your end of the deal.”

“Yes,” Rick answers. He’s never quite sure what to talk about with Waylon, not that the other man seems to much like talking. “No complaints?”

“None. How’s life been treating you?” Rick raises his eyebrows a little at that. Waylon has never asked him about himself before, but he supposes there comes a time for everything.

“Good. Duties have been light lately. Gives me lots of time for sleep and paperwork,” Rick says.

“Paperwork,” Waylon echoes, drawing back into the shadows of his cell.

“Crappy part of the job, but it’s got to be done,” Rick says.

Waylon growls something that Rick is slowly coming to realize is agreement. Rick nods into the darkness of the cell at the vague outline of Waylon. His eyes gleam in the dark. “’Til next time,” Rick says, then he is off.

Harkness must have been harassing the guard – one of his favourite pastimes – because he yells, “Hey, ugly, mind coming back later? I’m in the middle of an important conversation,” as soon as Rick turns the corner that leads to his cell.

“No,” is all Rick says.

“Oh, come on, help a brother out,” Harkness whines.

“You’d need more than me leaving to get whatever it is you want,” Rick says. The guard has a blank look on her face, as usual. Apparently she is one of the few that can stand being on guard outside Harkness’s cell without taking the occasional break to beat the shit out of him. Which not doing, as he and Waller had agreed, was necessary to ensure the Squad’s cooperation. Rick hadn’t bothered mentioning the fact that beating prisoners was both illegal and immoral. Waller didn’t care about those things, except to find loopholes or manipulate in others. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Harkness says, but it is almost good-natured. He sounds like he is in a good mood today. When Rick is as close to the cell door as he ever gets he says, “Have you always looked this ugly?”

“No,” Rick says, “coming here has really helped my complexion.”

Harkness laughs. “You must have been one ugly son of a bitch before, huh?”

Rick grins a little. “Not as ugly as you.”

Harkness really howls at that. “Oh! Funny guy, huh? Didn’t know you had enough brain cells for that, Flag.”

“I’ve got enough to be on the right side of these bars.”

“But you’re still staring through them, ain’t ya?” Harkness says, and Rick frowns. The more time he spends with these people, the harder he finds it to convince himself that he is one of the good guys.

“What do you want today, Harkness?” he asks, suddenly tired.

Harkness grins triumphantly. “Nothing you can give me, if you catch my drift.” He smiles lecherously. “Unless you like it on your knees like a good little cock-sucking army boy?”

Rick stays stony-faced. 

“Are you a faggot, Flag?” He pauses, as if he expects a response. “I bet you are. I bet you’re a little faggot, likes taking it up the ass. Do you like it up the ass? Big fat cock pushing that stick farther up your arsehole. Bet you like that, don’t you? Hmm, army boy?”

Rick quirks one eyebrow, asks, “You done?” He knows that Harkness is playing, not attacking him out of genuine belief. And if he had always preferred the company of men, even if not sexually, he learned long ago from his dad not to take names personal.

Harkness sighs. “Yeah, I’m done. You’re almost as little fun as this cunt,” he says, gesturing at the guard. She doesn’t even twitch. 

“So, Harkness, any reasonable requests?” Rick asks, hoping to get back home without any more paperwork.

“Nah. I’m bored. If you want to tell the boss lady to find us a mission where we go to Vegas or Hawaii, that would be great.” Harkness says, hopefully. “I came to America to see the sights. I’m not too impressed so far.”

“I’ll get right on that,” Rick drawls. 

As usual, the sun has long sunk when he gets home. Rick quietly unlocks the door and enters, just in case June is sleeping. He hears a muffled voice and at first assumes it is the television, but when he takes a step or two inside he recognizes it as June’s. She’s talking to someone. She has never once invited someone over, not in the six months they’ve lived there. Rick feels apprehension and adrenaline race each other up his spine as he reaches for the gun he keeps on his belt. He inches towards the closed bedroom door, and pauses for a minute to listen just outside.

“I’m sorry,” June says, and there is a long pause where Rick’s heart feels like it might beat through his chest.

“I’ll come home for a visit soon, Mom, I promise.”

Mom. June is on the phone with her mom. Rick heaves a silent sigh and returns his gun to its holster, feels like collapsing even as he keeps his shoulders straight. He was so scared-

“Soon, I promise. … No, I don’t know when.” Rick knows he should leave, let June have some privacy, but he can’t drag himself away just yet. Everything was getting to be too much, and the sound of her voice was reassuring. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to worry you. … I’m just stressed. I told you how work got too intense for me and I had to quit. I just don’t feel like travel right now. … I miss you, too. … I miss you.” June breaks off into a sob. It’s a loud, heartbreaking sound. It goes on and on, and Rick finds himself thinking that it will never end. He covers his eyes when he feels wet tears trailing down his own face.

The loud, body-racking sobs turn into quieter, breathy sounds as June runs out of tears. There is quiet for a long time, then the sound of June laughing quietly at something her mother said and blowing her nose. “I love you,” she says. Rick knows what her mother’s response is.

He walks away to get some space, and ends up doing the dishes in silence. His eyes still feel wet and raw when June comes up behind him as he finishes drying and hugs him tightly. He trembles in her grip. That night, he wraps her in his arms so tightly June jokes she can’t breathe.

“Sorry,” he says, and doesn’t loosen his grip.

“I love you,” she says, the remainder of the laughter in her voice, sadness intermingled.

“I love you, too.” He thinks that he’s never meant anything more in his life.

Rick sleeps soundly, the utter exhaustion of the day feeling like it has pinned him onto the bed and he will never be able to get up again. When he wakes he finds that during the natural movements of the night June had drifted away from him. She is lying on her side, her back turned to him. He roles over to press a kiss to her shoulder and notices her eyes are open. He slips an arm around her and asks, “How did you sleep?”

“I forgot to take my pills,” she says in a barely audible whisper.

“Okay,” Rick says, and reminds himself that this is not something to panic over. “The doctor told us what to do in case this happens, remember? Missing one dose isn’t harmful, you just need to be sure to take the next one at the normal time.”

“Right,” she says. Or at least that is what he thinks she said; she isn’t speaking loudly enough to be heard, but Rick isn’t going to push her.

“Can I make you something special for breakfast?” he asks. June shrugs limply. “How about waffles?” These are a favourite of hers Rick had learned about early on in their relationship. He had taken her to an all-day breakfast place several days after being sent in to June’s apartment as the leader of Waller’s team. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten, and was half in terror of what she could only half remember Enchantress doing with her body, but had smiled at the six different waffle options on the menu. She told him about Sunday mornings, when her uncle would come over and he and her mother would make waffles for the entire family together. He’d fallen half in love by the end of the story.

“Sure,” she says. He was hoping for a more enthusiastic response, but he’ll take what he can get.

“What do you want with it?” he asks. She shrugs again. “Ice cream? Chocolate sauce? Maple syrup? Bacon? Jam? Eggs? Fresh fruit? Sprinkles?” he prompts.

“All of them,” she says with a small smile.

“All of them?” He raises a single eyebrow, and teases back, “That’s going to taste pretty weird.”

“Yeah,” she agrees.

“I’m not sure we have any fresh fruit,” he says, scratching at his head. “Or milk, for that matter.”

“I guess you’ll just have to go buy some,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says, and groans as he stands. “I guess I will.”

He dresses in short order; grabs his wallet, phone, and a quick kiss from June, who has sat up and is making motions to get out of bed; and is out the door in a few minutes.

He is debating between strawberries and raspberries when he gets a text from June: I can’t do this anymore.

He just stares at it in blank shock for a moment. The next, and he drops the fruit and his basket and jogs to the entrance, quickly dialing June’s number. By the first ring he is in his jeep, by the fifth running a red light, and by the eight breaking the posted speed limit. That’s when her phone switches him to voicemail. He curses and hangs up, tries to concentrate on the road and not his shaking hands, or the tears that are filling his eyes. Damnit, why does he have to cry now? Why does he suddenly feel so certain that… that… he can’t even think it.

No, no, she can’t of. No.

He runs up the stairs to the door, but any time he might have saved is lost when he fumbles his keys and drops them. “Damnit.” He forces himself to steady his hands, then successfully unlocks the door. “June?!” he calls out, panicked. 

He’s never been so relieved to hear sobbing in his life.

He finds her in the kitchen, crumpled onto the floor beside a broken glass, spilt water, and blood. She’s grasping at the glass pieces, like she is trying to put them together again. The pads of her fingers have been sliced open, but it does not look too serious. He gently takes her hands and caresses them in his, hushing her all the while. “Shh, shh. It’s alright. It’s alright, June, I’m here now.” He flips her hands over so he can better look at her fingers and reveals a cut, several inches long, on the inside of her wrist. It missed the vein, and isn’t deep, but is still bleeding heavily.

“I’m s-so sorry, I’m so s-sorry,” she sobs. “I’m s-such a b-burden. I can’t do an-anything.”

“You’re not a burden.” He can’t stop staring at the cut, watching the blood run out. 

June continues sobbing.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, standing. The walk to the bathroom, only a few long strides, seems both impossibly long and oddly short. Like he’s walking in a dream. He grabs a few clean, white towels out of the cabinet, and the first aid kit from under the sink. Back in the kitchen, he wraps the first towel around June’s forearm while he opens the first aid kit, pulls out antiseptic and long bandages. That done, he takes a minute to look at June. She is curled in on herself, sitting cross-legged, head bowed to the point that all he can see is the crown of her head and her blonde hair hanging limply, covering her face. “June,” he says, gently, “Look at me.” She does, tears running down her face. He shushes her again, saying it’ll be alright, and tries ineffectually to dry her face. He thinks that her sobs aren’t as violent as when he first came in. Hopes.

“I’m going to bandage you up now,” he says.

He works quickly, cleaning and bandaging first her forearm, then her fingers, and one cut just below her thumb. Her sobs have subsided by the time he has finished, until she is just sitting, blue gaze locked on nothing. Rick doesn’t know what to do next, so he just leaves her while he cleans up the towels, first-aid kit, broken glass, water and blood. She hasn’t moved by the time he has finished.

“June….” He wants to ask if the cuts on her hands were on purpose, can’t. He decides he can ask later, when she doesn’t have that far away look on her face. Instead he sits beside her, back against the cabinets, and slings an arm around her, pulling her close. He buries his face in her hair. His eyes feel wet again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t be,” he replies, tiredly. He can’t imagine why she is sorry. Does she think he minds doing this? He would do anything to make her better.

They stay like that for a long time.

Several days later Rick is called into an emergency meeting by Waller. June has been better, or else he would spend a moment considering not answering her. But after that day, and the night of restful sleep that came after it, June has been more engaged than she has been for weeks. So when the call comes, he doesn’t argue, just packs a bag, receives a kiss on the cheek from June, and walks out the door.

The meeting turns out to be an unexpected surveillance mission, hastily scraped together by Waller. She commandeers personal from a variety of agencies, each of which he doesn’t want to know what kind of power she has over them, and he has been picked for her command team. The mission turns into a grueling fifty-three hours locked in some basement command which has been hastily assembled staring at computer screens with basically no sleep and too much shit coffee, waiting while forces on the other side of the world mobilize to follow a particular van and its occupants. Waller is less than forthcoming with the who and why details, but Rick has more than enough work to keep him occupied, so he doesn’t speculate. Between calls to different governments asking pretty please to let them use their agents, debriefing those men, and a particularly difficult situation where the van crosses a boarder that the agents they are using at the time cannot cross without threats of international violence, leading Rick to start the damn process all over again – with half the time. He thinks Waller is going to literally bite his head off, but they manage to relocate the van. When the van eventually seems to be settled in at a compound several countries away from where it began, Waller starts sending them home in sifts for sleep and real food. Rick is on the first shift out.

He manages to keep his focus during his drive home by turning the radio up slightly too loud and by slurping down a fast food cup of coffee. It’s too hot, but better then the shit they served at Waller’s command – that stuff tasted like one of his dirty gym socks could have been used as the filter. The radio station was classic rock and he got good reception, so he couldn’t complain. 

He arrives home at a little after three in the afternoon, the sun bright overhead. “Honey, I’m home,” he jokingly calls out as he enters, looking forward to another kiss on the cheek and then bed. June doesn’t respond, and she isn’t in the living room or kitchen. The bathroom door is open when he checks. The bedroom is dark, the blinds pulled over the windows. “June?” he asks, thinking she must have a headache and decided to lie down. She doesn’t respond. As his eyes adjust, he begins to make out her form lying in bed, eyes closed. She looks like she is still asleep, which is odd because June had been keeping normal sleep patterns because of her meds. “June?” he asks again, shaking her gently. No response. He checks her pulse. Weak.

The ambulance is there within twenty minutes, but it seems like far too long to Rick. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just sits beside her in bed, petting her hair. The trip to the hospital, by contrast, seems a blur, everything moving entirely too quickly. The city passes around him, then they are wheeling her out and leading him to a room to fill out paperwork. Then he’s left alone in a crowded waiting room, glancing up hopefully along with everyone else whenever someone calls out a name. He stares at his hands, the lines and calluses, and watches a bright square of sunlight move across the floor. He's reminded of the vision Enchantress gave him, of June dead in a hospital.

“Rick Flag?” a doctor asks, tall with Arabic features. He isn’t smiling. Rick follows him to a small office, where he is offered a seat. Rick sits on the edge of it, body tense. “There is no easy way to say this, Rick. June is dead. I’m so sorry.”

Rick takes a moment to let that sink in. The words just seem to sit in his brain, unprocessed, meaningless. Rationally, he understands what they mean – June is dead. But it doesn’t seem real. How could June be dead? This couldn’t be real.

“What-?” he takes a moment, has to clear his throat. “What happened?” he asks.

“It appears that she took multiple sleeping pills. By the time she made it here there was nothing we could do, she was already too far gone. There was nothing anyone could have done.” 

Rick nods, not understanding. June took multiple pills, but she wasn’t suicidal. Had he missed something? Was she….

“Multiple pills?” he manages to ask through a throat that seems to be constricting.

“It is hard to say for certain, but sometimes people take more than they should once the effects start wearing off. Sometimes people forget if they’ve taken a pill that night and decide to take a second just to be safe. It is entirely possible that this was an accident, but we may never really know what happened.”

“But it’s possible that she… that it wasn’t an accident?”

“It is possible, but there is no way to know for certain. I am so sorry for your loss, Rick. Would you like a moment alone?”

Rick nods. His thoughts spin, and he sits despairingly with his head in his hands for what feels like a lifetime.


	2. Chapter 2

June’s mother, Phyllis, doesn’t look much like June – but she does have her smile. It’s wide, and reveals the neat white upper teeth, and pushes up the cheeks in a way Rick has always found adorable. Phyllis smiles often, when she greets friends and family at the viewing, when she hugs the funeral director at the end, whenever she catches Rick’s eye throughout the long few days he spends at her house.

He doesn’t know how she does it. He hasn’t smiled in the week since June died, and doesn’t think he ever will again. 

Phyllis is best described as squat, with dark eyes and grey hair cut fashionably short. She walks with her toes pointed slightly outward, and doesn’t look very commanding, but people move out of her way as if she were a colonel. Considering how packed her kitchen is currently, it’s necessary. Besides Rick and Phyllis, there is June’s sister Nina, her husband, their toddler, June’s brother Drew, his fiancé, their baby, Phyllis’ brother Clarence, his wife, their son, and two elderly great aunts, Judith and Betty, who sit side-by-side at the table and smile at what is said around them. Rick is pretty sure they’re both deaf as a post. On top of the fridge the framed picture of June from the funeral sits beside that of her father. They look alike, with the same honey brown hair, blue eyes, and heavy eyebrows. His smile is closed-mothed, and slightly crooked, and causes lots of little laugh lines around the eyes. Rick is guessing that June got her height from her father, but hasn’t asked. He somehow feels like he doesn’t deserve to ask, as the man who couldn’t keep June alive.

They’re all sitting around the kitchen table, still dressed in their funeral black, plates of half-finished waffles in front of them. Phyllis is waddling about, dividing up the dishes of food that had been dropped off to the house by the community. “Judith, Betty, dears, you’ll take some of this lasagne, won’t you?”

“Pardon me?” asks one little old lady.

“Do you want some lasagne?” Phyllis enunciates. 

“Oh, yes.”

Beside him, June’s cousin is talking about the NHL with Drew. Grant, Rick thinks the cousin’s name is, but maybe that is the name of Nina’s husband – or maybe that’s the baby’s name. Rick tries to pay attention, but mostly he just pushes the syrup covered waffles around his plate, chewing slowly. He is halfway through a bite when his phone rings in his pocket. He swallows quickly, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Waller. He sighs, stands, tells Phyllis, “I have to take this,” and opens the kitchen door and steps out into the mid-November chill.

He stands on the porch in his sock feet, staring out at the thin dusting of snow on the ground. He hasn’t talked to Waller since the day June passed. Rick doesn’t really remember the conversation, it was just one of many he had to make that day, but he remembers telling Waller June was dead and… thinks she told him not to come into work. But maybe he’d told her he wouldn’t be coming in. He sighs again, his breath a visible cloud in the air. “Flag,” he answers.

“Quinn is being brought in as we speak. She should be at Belle Reve by the morning.”

Rick is shocked, not sure how to respond. From everything he’d heard Harley and the Joker had been inseparable since Harley’s escape, and no one had a chance of getting close to Harley when she was with the Joker. What had happened to change that? 

Before he can organize his thoughts into a response, Waller says, “I want you here for this, Flag.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he manages. The shock was fading back into numbness. 

Waller hangs up without another word.

Rick leans against the railing of the deck, watching as two small kids bundled in bright greens and pinks are called in for supper by their mother. He puts his phone back in his pocket, then lets his arms hang limply by his sides, just for a moment. Just one moment and then he’ll… go inside, he supposes. Pack. Leave.

The door opens behind him, and for a moment heat and conversation spill out, then Phyllis steps out and closes the door behind her. It’s just the two of them, the neighbourhood silent now that the two kids have gone inside. 

“Work?” Phyllis asks.

“Yeah,” Rick confirms. “I’ve been called back in.”

He doesn’t look over at Phyllis, just keeps staring straight ahead. He’s not sure what he’s looking for. June, maybe. She must have played like those kids had been, in this very yard.

“When do they want you?” she asks.

“As soon as I can get there.”

“There should be a flight out tonight, then.”

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps studying this quiet street. It’s like nothing he’s ever known before, these big families with 9-5 jobs. And he’s just a tourist.

“I’ll drive you to the airport. We should talk.” Phyllis wraps a hand around his wrist and pulls gently. “But we’ll have enough time for you to finish your waffles first.”

Rick eats every bite, puts his plate in the dishwasher, and then packs his bag. They are on the road in Phyllis’ little red Mazda within thirty-five minutes.

They sit in silence until Phyllis has navigated to the main road out of town. “There has been so much going on that I haven’t had time to say some things I’ve wanted to you. I thought we’d have you for a little more time, but a car is a good place for this sort of conversation. 

“Do you blame yourself for June’s death?”

Rick doesn’t know how to answer that. The answer is yes, but he knows that isn’t the answer that he is supposed to give. But he can’t lie to June’s mom, that isn’t right. 

“Just answer the question.”

“Yes,” Rick obeys. His voice sounds rough and strained, and he has to squeeze his eyelids tightly together because suddenly his eyes feel damp.

It’s a situation he’s getting dishearteningly used to.

He sees Phyllis nod out of the corner of his eye, but stays staring straight ahead. She does the same. “I thought so. You shouldn’t – there was nothing you could have done differently. Sure, maybe you could have told your boss that you couldn’t come into work that day, but eventually you would have had to leave her alone. Junie was going through a hard time, and I may not know all the details, but I know it takes more than just a supportive lover to deal with that kind of thing. You can do all that is humanly possible, and then some, and it can still not be enough. So don’t blame yourself. I don’t. I don’t blame you, Rick.”

Rick swallows hard. It means a lot to him, it really does, but he just can’t process it. He could have done more. He could have been there, he could have seen the signs, he could have, he could have…. He could have saved June. He should have.

Phyllis reaches over and squeezes his hand. “It’s okay. I can’t make you believe me, but just promise me you’ll remember what I’ve told you.”

“I promise,” Rick said, voice still shaking. He squeezes her hand back.

They sit in silence for awhile, waiting for a red light to turn.

After the light turns green, Phyllis says, “You’re welcome at my house anytime, Rick. You have my phone number, right?”

“It was in June’s phone.” He’d called her from it after June passed. He’d gone back to the apartment to do it – he hadn’t exactly thought to bring it to the hospital. He was surprised at how normal the apartment looked when he got there, with an unwashed mug still sitting on the counter, one chair pulled out from the table, and the sheets on the bed pulled back like June had only just gotten out of bed. 

“I’m going to make sure you put it in your phone. I want you to call me. I don’t care if you don’t want to, or don’t need to – call me anyway. Even if it’s just to chat about the weather. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rick replies as if he were answering Waller, except with a little more warmth in his voice. He has a lot of respect for June’s mom. She laughs a little.

“I wish we’d met under different circumstances. Better ones,” Phyllis sighs. “But I am glad to have met you, Rick. And for everything you did for my daughter. She talked about you very fondly.”

“I wish we’d met sooner.” He has been imagining that, as he lays awake in June’s old bedroom. What it would have been like to have June walk him into her childhood home, have her introduce her mom, her older siblings, her niece and nephew. To have her show him her hometown, where she went to high school, where she played. To get to tease her about the troll doll in her room. 

Maybe if he’d suggested going home, she would have been alive.

“You’ll stay with me again when we have the burial service in the summer.”

“Of course.”

“Have you heard about the time Junie climbed a tree when she was six and couldn’t get down? No? Well….”

Phyllis hugs him just before she leaves him at the airport. 

Rick spends the few minutes he has before boarding the plane checking the news for reports on Harley. There’re hundreds. The Gotham Gazette has a headline which reads “Clown Queen Captured: Crown Too Heavy?”, accompanying a picture of Harley wearing a crown twice the size of her head and at least twenty necklaces. Apparently, she and the Joker had been robbing a rich widow when the police had arrived before they were expected – Harley, wearing her weight in jewels, had been slowed down and had been caught. 

Good story, good picture, but something doesn’t seem right. Rick rubs at his face in frustration. He won’t get answers until he makes it to a secure server, which won’t be for several hours. Until then, all he can do is sleep – which he hasn’t been getting a lot of lately. 

The in-flight entertainment is Bob’s Burgers. Rick ends up watching it the entire flight, his eyes refusing to close. He doesn’t have headphones, so most of the plot is lost on him, not that he can bring himself to care. 

Rick has made it halfway to where he parked his car when he remembers to turn his phone back on. He has one text message from Waller: Quinn back at Belle Reve. Stop by headquarters before you go for a briefing package.

Rick thinks about replying, but can’t even think of anything he wants to say. Yes, ma’am, the only response Waller wants to heat. Yes, you pain in the ass, is more accurate, but not worth sending. Would Waller even respond? He doubts it. She knows that she has him under her thumb, what with June –

June is dead. 

This means a lot of things, one of which being that he no longer has to play nice with Waller to keep her doctors paid. He hadn’t realized this before. It certainly opens some options. He could tell Waller to go fuck herself because he wouldn’t be her lap dog anymore, damn the consequences. He’d done some things both before he came to work for Waller and while that he wasn’t too proud of, and could land him in some hot water if Waller sent the wrong paper to the right people. Court-martialed. But… it might be better than working for Waller. He’d certainly have a longer life expectancy. 

But there was the squad. He wasn’t prepared to abandon them. So, he tosses the phone into the cup holder, no response, and drives to Waller’s new headquarters. At least they’re close to Belle Reve.

A man with bags under his eyes hands him a large brown envelope. Rick thinks he recognizes him from the fifty-three hours he spent on that surveillance mission, or at any rate he has a similar pale blue tie with a brown coffee stain just under the knot. “Thanks,” Rick says, looking the envelope over. It’s heavy. “Hey, don’t suppose there’s a pot of coffee on?”

The man grunts. “You know where it is,” he says, and Rick isn’t sure if it is supposed to be a question or not. He decides the safest bet is a drawl in the affirmative, and the man walks off down the dimly lit hall to a room Rick remembers several cots were shoved into. Poor bastard probably drew the short straw and had to wait around for him, Rick muses, as he walks down a different hall to the coffee pot, then to an empty desk. 

The envelope contains a large amount of paper, but is actually a quick read, because the majority of it is blank paperwork for Harley’s transfer to Belle Reve and reinstatement to the team, among other things. Apparently all the paperwork being left to him is one of the perks of being assigned team leader. Goody.

The briefing doesn’t have much more information than the news reports, except for one tidbit: the GCPD received a tip about the Joker’s plans from a woman the day before the break-in. 

Now, that is interesting.

Rick spends the drive to Belle Reve mulling it over, window rolled down and classic rock a murmur under the sound of warm wind rushing through the car. The Joker’s plans are infamous for their meticulous and detailed planning, but from all that Rick has read in the reports, Joker is the only one who knows all the details. The henchclowns may not even know that there is a job until they get a message which says they need to be someplace in twenty minutes, or else. Joker isn’t exactly the sharing sort, so who is this woman who tipped off the GCPD? 

Rick would suspect Harley, except he’s seen how crazy she is about him. He doesn’t see what she would get out of it, especially because she was arrested. She wants nothing more than to be with him.

It doesn’t make any damn sense.

Nothing in Rick’s life makes any damn sense anymore.

It’s dark by the time Rick makes it to Belle Reve. Toms, the warden, has been expecting him, and Rick is ushered directly to his office as soon as he clears the metal detectors. Toms looks up from paperwork as he enters, and waves him to a seat. “These last few days must have been exciting for you, what with Quinn being captured and all,” he opens with.

Rick pauses for a moment, taken off guard. Exciting. Toms doesn’t know that he’s just come from a funeral, can’t possibly know, so he wouldn’t understand if Rick decked him. Rick smiles, and asks, “Have the last few days been exciting for you?”

Toms huffs out a laugh. “No, they’ve been a nightmare. I feel as tired as you look, and I was only notified last night. You must have been on this awhile,” Toms pauses, giving Rick time to fill in details, but Rick just stares back at him waiting for him to continue. “We’ve got Quinn in a temporary cell for now. Her old one was left empty after reconstruction was completed, and she could be moved back at any time, but I’d rather any personal items she is being given be back in there before she is. Safety precaution. I understand that you will be taking care of the paperwork for that, as well as selecting what personal items will be returned.”

“I’ve got it all right here,” Rick replies, tapping the brown envelope currently sitting on his lap.

“Good,” Toms nods. “Now, unless you have any questions, I’ll have one of the guards see you to Quinn’s cell.”

He doesn’t have any questions, and is in front of Quinn’s cell within a handful of minutes. It’s one of the standard ones, like the rest of the squad is in. Harley had been kept in one when she was first brought to Belle Reve, according to the files, but she had somehow disappeared from sight of the guards and hospitalized two men when they entered to investigate. And that was only the first incident.

It hadn’t taken long for Harley to get her own specially built cell.

Rick can only just see Harley where she sits on the bed with her back to the door. “Well, well, well, didn’t expect to see you for awhile, Harley Quinn,” Rick says to announce his presence.

Harley looks over her shoulder, just a quick glance, but it’s long enough. Her eyes are red-rimmed, cheeks damp. Harley makes a few discreet swipes at her cheeks, and Rick glances over his shoulder at the guard which is standing at the end of the hall. She should be far enough away that if he and Harley keep their voices down, their conversation goes unheard. 

“Flag!” Harley says, voice cheerful. She smiles, her usual loopy grin, as she saunters over to the door. Her right eye is swollen and bruised. It doesn’t look fresh. She’s a good actress – if Rick hadn’t of gotten that quick glance at her face he would think that nothing was wrong. “What’s up, soldier? How’s the wife, the kids?”

“Good,” he says, playing along, voice light. Harley is standing close to the door, probably just outside of the zone where the camera can pick up her face. “Nice room you’ve got here, but I heard you shouldn’t get used to it. You’ll be moved back to your old room as soon as all your things have been moved. Likely tomorrow.”

“All my things?” Harley’s blue eyes light up.

Rick nods. He doesn’t give a shit if Waller thinks she shouldn’t get them back. As far as he’s concerned, Harley earned them. And he’s too damn tired to put any more thought into it than that.

“Aww, Flag, are you goin’ soft on little ol’ me?” she asks, batting her lashes.

He raises his eyebrows at her. She pouts. He’s sure the expression is very effective on certain men when she is wearing all her makeup, but without makeup and with a faded bruise and red-rimmed eyes it just makes her look more vulnerable. “Harley,” he says quietly, hoping the poor mics on the cameras wouldn’t pick up his voice, “How did you get that bruise?”

“What this?” Harley asks flippantly, gesturing at the bruise. “Nothing.”

“Harley….” He wonders if he should push it or not. It’s not really any of his business, and she could have just gotten it when she was arrested. But it looks too faded for that, and the circumstances of the arrest still don’t sit right with him. She’s part of the squad, so if it happened during arrest or after he wants to know because he is the advocate for these people. If it happened before… he isn’t really sure what that would mean. “What happened?” She just looks at him defiantly, chin tipped up slightly and one thin eyebrow raised. “Just tell me, was it the guards?”

That seems to soften her somewhat, and she says, “No, Flag,” with almost a sad shake of the head.

“It’s not my place, but you’re squad. If there’s anything you need, I’ll be around,” he says, resigning himself to never knowing. “I know you probably don’t want to be back, but it’ll be good to have you around. Lawton can finally stop asking me what you’ve been doing.”

Harley laughs a little. “Really? He’s been asking about me? Floyd’s so sweet.” 

Rick shakes his head a little at a deadly hitman being called sweet, but Harley isn’t wrong. Rick has seen him with his daughter, has seen his genuine care for Harley. The man may not be the conventional sweet, but he does care a lot. “I’m not going to tell him you called him that.”

Harley smiles, but something seems to be preoccupying her. She bites her lip, hesitant, then rapidly seems to come to a decision. “I wanted to be captured,” she says, looking him dead in the eye.

He’s never seen her look so sane. He nods, thinks he understands. He has read the files, after all. He’s put a few things together. 

Harley steps back, smile back in place. She stretches, yawns dramatically, and says, “If you’ll excuse me, a lady needs her beauty sleep.”

“Night, Harley,” he drawls.

“Night, Flagy.” He gives her a look for the nickname, but she just waves goodbye, a big smile on her face. He shakes his head and walks away.

Toms is still at his office, and signs Rick’s paperwork wherever his signature is needed, before courteously letting Rick use his office to finish his paperwork while he goes home. Rick drops off the completed paperwork, some left on the warden’s desk so that Harley’s personal items could be transferred, some taken into Waller’s new headquarters. It’s very late when he gets home, and he’s exhausted. Good. He doesn’t want to have to face the fact that June isn’t there, not yet. That can wait until he wakes. 

He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow and sleeps for almost thirteen hours. He wakes with a bursting bladder, and pees like a waterfall during a flood. He makes breakfast, goes for a run, has a shower, and gets dressed. He is just starting to consider the coffee cup still sitting on the counter where June left it when his phone rings. Waller. 

“Flag,” he answers.

“Flag,” she acknowledges. “I’d like to brief you on everything you’ve missed. Would you be available today?”

That was surprisingly polite for her. What was she trying to get him to do? He glances at the coffee cup, realizes he doesn’t care. “Anytime.”

“Good,” Waller says, and for a minute he thinks she is going to say something. Maybe ask him how he is holding up, or how the funeral was. After a pause, she just says, “When is the soonest you’ll be free to leave?”

That really gives him pause. Not the soonest he can be there, but the soonest he can be free to leave. He is so used to being told to drop everything that he doesn’t know what to do. He considers for a brief moment that Waller is being held hostage and this is some sort of message, but dismisses it as foolish. She is trying to be nice for some reason – maybe she thinks he is going to quit. He considers the coffee mug again, and answers, “I can leave now.”

“Alright,” Waller answers, and again there is a pause around the word like she is considering saying something. “I’ll be waiting,” she says, and then hangs up.

She isn’t exactly waiting for him when he arrives. She is in her office, a room with one wall made of glass which overlooks the computers and equipment which are central to her operations. The blinds are open and Rick can see that she is on the phone. She makes eye contact briefly and indicates some chairs just beside the door. Rick nods politely but stays standing, turning his back on her to overlook the command centre. It’s quiet at the moment, just one man and a woman looking over something on one of the computers. He doesn’t recognize either of them. 

It feels good to stand after all the driving and sitting he has been doing lately. The small act of rebellion against Waller also feels good. He almost smiles, but the thought of everything Waller has ever held against him hangs over his thoughts. 

June would have loved to hear about him sticking it to Waller, even in such a small way.

He grits his teeth and waits for her to finish her call.

A few minutes later she opens her office door and says, “Flag, come in.” She watches with cool eyes as he enters, shutting the door behind him, and sits. She purses her lips and once more he thinks she is going to say something, but she just launches into the briefing. The on-the-ground surveillance team had followed all comings and goings from the compound they had originally tracked their subject to, but no interesting developments had occurred. Their subject, an unnamed man of middle age and mixed-racial features, was presumed to still be in the compound. The US government wanted this man extracted but did not want to be associated with the extraction, and so Task Force X was being sent. All of it was very vague, need to know, except for the where and the when. They would be deployed the next day, flown over in their own plane, and dropped just across the border from the compound. Army forces would be accompanying them to the drop-off point, but no farther. If they run into trouble they’ll be on their own. 

“Do you understand?” Waller asks, staring at him with her eyebrows raised.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Waller nods. “Good. Debriefing concluded.” Rick moves to stand, but she doesn’t relax, still giving him that piercing stare. 

“I’ll be blunt, Flag: are we going to have problems now?”

How is he supposed to respond to that? He isn’t sure, he just feels numb. “No, ma’am,” he says, and means this. He has no intention to abandon the squad, and that means he has to work with Waller. 

Waller considers him for another moment, then nods slightly. “Dismissed.”

By the time he returns home and eats his take-out supper, it’s late enough he can just go to bed. He has an early morning, after all.

He’s at Belle Reve by 08h00 sharp, to oversee the squad being loaded into a prison transport van and shipped to the nearby airbase where they will be flown overseas. Both Harley and Jones are wheeled out strapped down on metal transports, but Lawton and Harkness are simply handcuffed. Harley gives him a big grin as she is wheeled past and says, “Hiya Flagy.” Jones is silent. Harkness is talking a mile-a-minute, mostly threats that none of the guards seem to take seriously, and he doesn’t acknowledge Rick, which is fine by him. “Where the hell you been, man?” Lawton asks as soon as he sees him. “It’s been weeks.” There is something accusatory in his voice that Rick doesn’t know what to do with. He grunts out something about being busy, and by that point Lawton is stepping into the van, and his watchful dark eyes are turned from him. Rick hears his shocked exclamation at seeing Harley and her answering laugh, before the doors of the van are swung closed.

He realizes as he signs one final document that he’s smiling. 

Rick is up front with the driver and can only hear the murmur of voices from the back. It sounds like Harley is telling a grand story, probably about how she was captured. He spends the ten-minute drive watching the marshy land pass, and listening to the indistinct voices of the squad. He can’t help but be happy at their happiness, but he does keep the smile from his face. He has an image to maintain.

At the airstrip, he has the squad gather around him and pulls out a tablet. “Listen up!” he commands. “We’ve got a simple mission. We are to snatch this man,” he shows a picture of the target on the tablet, the unnamed middle-age man of mixed-racial features. The picture is a little grainy, but clearly shows his face, so they should be able to find him fairly easily. “He is in this compound,” he flips to a picture of the compound, a large squat building surrounded by an old stone fence. He then flips to the map. “We will be dropped off here, and will have to cross the border and make our way on foot to the compound, here. The United States government does not want to be associated with this operation, so if the shit turns ugly while we’re on the wrong side of the border, we’re on our own. Questions?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a question,” Harkness says. “What happens if we decide to cut your throat while out there in the desert?”

“Well, that depends.” Rick says crossing his arms and leveling Harkness with an unimpressed stare. 

Harkness stares at him for a moment, waiting for an answer, and starts fidgeting as the moment drags. Finally, he sends a look up to the heavens and snaps, “Fine, I’ll bite. Depends on what?”

“On whether it’s Waller or I who flip the kill switch that blows the explosive in your neck.”

Harkness is making a face when another voice pipes up from just behind Rick. “Or I could slit your throat.” He turns to find Tatsu standing behind him, one hand on the hilt of her katana. He turns back to the squad. “Or you could be killed by Katana and have your soul trapped in her blade forever. Your choice,” he says, locking eyes with Harkness. To give him credit, he doesn’t back down, just bares his teeth like an angry dog.

“Any more questions?” He looks at each of them, trying to gauge their thoughts, but they all have pretty damn good poker faces. 

“Nah, man. But your speeches still suck.” Lawton pipes up, a slight smirk on his face.

“Your complaint is noted.” He looks around one more time, and then says, “Alright, go get geared up.” The squad disperses, and he turns to Tatsu. “Have you been briefed?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says, giving a short nod. 

“Glad to have you at my back again,” he says. The squad may have saved him last time, but that doesn’t mean they’ll do it again. He doesn’t trust these people. Tatsu, however, he knows will have his back and won’t leave him to die if the opportunity arises.

She gives him a slight nod once again, and he pats her on the back gently. She is dressed in her usual outfit, leather jacket and mask already on. Rick is dressed as well, except his usual camo has been stripped of all emblems. He looks like a mercenary, a man without country or allegiances, and he doesn’t like it. He is doing this, all of it, for his country, and he’s proud of that fact. Not being allowed to display his allegiances throbs painfully in his gut, another thing Waller has taken from him.

The plane ride isn’t exactly quiet, the way tension simmers between the passengers. It’s partially the usual tension while on the way into battle, but usually people fighting together don’t want to hurt each other. The plane is big, with enough room that the six of them don’t have to sit anywhere near each other. And for the most part, they don’t. Jones disappears into a darkened corner, Harley and Lawton sit against one wall (well, Harley sprawls along several seats with her feet up on Lawton’s lap), Rick sits along the opposite wall, and Tatsu sits several seats away from him sharpening her katana. Harkness sits in the middle, close to Tatsu, close enough that he can leer at her. Rick finds himself keeping an eye on him through most of the flight. Harkness’ rap sheet reads like a rape sheet at times.

About halfway through the flight Lawton raises his voice above the thrum of the engines and quiet conversation to say, “Hey, Flag, I think you should check on KC.”

Rick stands with a frown and walks to the dark corner. As he draws nearer, he can hear a retching noise. Jones isn’t in the corner anymore but hidden away in the corner near where he had been sitting is a bathroom. Jones’ bulk barely fits inside it, and from the doorway Rick can see him hunching over the small toilet regurgitating… something boney that Rick doesn’t want to look too closely at. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, then says louder, “We gotta get you some Gravol or something for the next flight.”

Jones growls quietly, maybe in agreement or anger or pain, Rick isn't too sure.

After dealing with the disposal of Jones’ regurgitated meal, which did not fit in the toilet, Rick returns to his seat. He doesn’t see Tatsu or Harkness at first, and feels worry churn in his gut. Then he sees them. Tatsu has Harkness’ arm twisted behind his back, her face a serious mask, his twisted in pain. “Is there a problem here?” he asks.

“Is there?” Tatsu demands, twisting Harkness’ arm just a little bit further.

“No, no, no problem!” he squeals. 

Rick takes his seat and catches Lawton’s eye across from him. He looks amused, and Harley is outright cackling. Rick lets some of his amusement and relief slip onto his face, and Lawton smiles at him.

Meanwhile, Tatsu hisses something that Rick can’t hear into Harkness’ ear. He looks fearful, and nods along with whatever she says. When Tatsu lets him up, he returns to his seat quietly, but keeps sending glances towards Tatsu that look… considering, interested. 

When Tatsu resumes her seat Rick lifts a questioning eyebrow at her, but she just smiles slightly and takes out her katana and continues sharpening it. 

Several hours later they’ve landed and crossed the border, and are perched on a hill overlooking the compound. Rick stares through his binoculars, looking for guards and the best way to get in - and out again. There is just the one gate in the fence, but they could climb over it at any spot, since it isn't very high. The building itself has several doors and multiple windows they could enter through. They've been watching the compound for a half hour now, and Rick hasn't seen any guards, which matches the Intel they have. He lowers the binoculars and looks around at the Squad. Lawton is beside him, still staring down his scope at the compound. Behind them the rest of the squad sits, mostly in silence. Tatsu and Jones are sitting in the shade of some trees, out of the worst of the heat, while Harley and Harkness sit in the sun. Harley is stretched out, bare limbs languid in the hot sun - apparently she has decided this is a good time to work on her tan (“I never have time when I'm in Gotham!” she'd complained. “And no one wants to let me out in Belle Reve.”). Harkness is sitting beside her, and looks to be talking away, but what he's saying or if anyone is listening Rick can't tell from where he is. 

Assured that the Squad isn't planning something, he turns back to the compound to find Lawton watching him. Rick thinks he should probably be concerned about having a well armed assassin watch him that closely, but he isn't. “I can’t see ‘em, but I'll bet there are snipers at the windows on the upper floor,” he says, gesturing, “And men on each of the doors.” He looks at Lawton. “What do you think?”

Lawton looks back down the barrel of his scope. “I can see two by this door, another two by that, and one sniper on the upper level on both sides.”

“Okay,” Rick says, nodding. He knew Lawton had better tech, but damn. “Suggested route in?”

Lawton looks at him, very seriously, eyebrows drawn slightly together as if working something out. Rick just stares calmly back. Eventually, Lawton’s mouth twists up gently at one corner. He looks away, back down the scope. “That depends,” he says, and when he makes eye contact again the much more familiar smirk is on his face. “How much of a scene do we want to make?”

A smirk creeps into the corner of Rick’s mouth. “Waller only said that we shouldn't be tied to the US government.”

“Seems to me the best way to do that is to be seen.”

Rick grins.

Ten minutes later and Harley, Harkness, and Jones are barreling over the hill opposite the front door, all of them yelling. The sound is thunderous and serves to catch everyone's attention. Men spill out of the door and are quickly shot down by Lawton from his original position on the hill. Rick and Tatsu watch from where they've made their way to the edge of the fence on the side of the compound as Lawton takes out the snipers on the upper floor, and then the men just visible at the side of the door they're at. 

“That's our cue,” Rick says, and then he and Tatsu are vaulting themselves over the wall, quickly running to the door. Rick leans against the wall just beside it, and motions for Tatsu to open it. She does, and he leans around the door, trying to stay as covered by the doorframe as possible while he quickly scans the room. “All clear.” And then they’re into the dark room, sweeping quickly for any hostile or the man they're sent for. The distraction seems to be going smoothly, with no one in sight, and Rick can hear Harley laughing just before Tatsu closes the door behind them. 

Rick and Tatsu quickly move through the first floor, clearing all the rooms efficiently. They are making their way back to the stairs by the front door when Lawton comes in on the radio, “They've started running out the back.”

“Any sign of our target?”

“Nope.”

“How do things look out front?”

“Peachy,” answers Harkness.

“Boomerang, Quinn, Croc: meet us at the stairs.”

“Sure thing, Flagy,” replies Harley.

The stairs are just by the front door. One set leads to the upper floor, the other into the basement. Rick and Lawton had agreed that the target was most likely to be in the basement. “Croc, Harley, the two of you take the upper floor. Katana and I will take the basement. Boomerang, you stay here and keep our exit clear.”

Harley salutes mockingly, a smirk on her face. Jones is already prowling up the stairs. Harkness is grumbling something about missing all the fun, but Rick is already making his way down the dark stairs, not sticking around to listen to his complaints.

The basement seems to be mostly storage rooms, with some offices and two large rooms filled with cots interspersed. They find plenty of signs of the personnel having abandoned the basement completely, but no people. Spilled coffee, scattered paperwork, a radio still playing quietly in one corner. Distantly, Rick can hear gunfire.

They’ve almost completed their scan of the basement when Harley comes on the radio. “Found ‘im, Flagy.”

“On our way,” Rick replies, already running for the stairs, Tatsu on his heels. He is just reaching the top of the stairs when something connects with his left temple, knocking him off balance and into the wall. He hears Tatsu roar in anger behind him, then she jumps over him, katana in her hands. He also hears laughing - Harkness.

The laughing is interspersed with chuckled sorrys, which quickly turn very real as Tatsu swings her katana towards his neck. “Hold!” Rick shouts. “Hold, Katana!”

She does, the katana a mere inch from Harkness’ jugular. He cracks open one eye and looks at the katana, gulping noticeably. “Sorry, mate, didn’t think that was you.”

Rick doesn’t believe him for a second, but this isn’t the time. More gunfire sounds from upstairs, and Rick snaps, “Save it. Stay here, and do your goddamn job.”

He sprints past Harkness up the stairs, Tatsu following moments later. Harley and Jones are easy to find, they just have to follow the gunfire. On the opposite side of the building from where Lawton is perched three men are left fighting, one of which is their target. He’s tall even hunched behind cover, dressed in desert camo, and seems to be in charge. He also seems to be running low on ammo, as are his men, judging by the one man on the right who, when his gun clicks empty, curses and flings it at Jones’ head. It bounces off, and Jones shakes it off with a growl. At the approach of more footsteps the target glances briefly out behind the doorway he’s using as cover, then motions at his men. Rick can’t quite make out the directions from where he’s standing, but can guess at the message from the complete cease in gunfire. Conserve ammunition.

Harley, apparently, does not guess at the message, because she dives straight into the room where the hostiles are. “Damnit,” Rick curses, waiting for the worst. 

Sharp screams, the sound cutting off suddenly. There’s yelling and cursing, Harley laughing, and the sound of a scuffle. One single gunshot sounds, then another, before a gun is thrown out of the room, presumably by Harley. Rick is scrambling to get into the room, Tatsu and Jones behind him. The man who earlier threw his gun at Jones runs from the room, plowing straight into the scaly man. He has enough time to scream in terror before Jones grabs him by the scruff of the neck and slams him head first into the wall with a sickening crunch, crushing both his skull and spine by the brief look Rick gets.

Rick takes cover against the doorframe, and looks around. Harley is grinning wickedly, blood dripping down her arm, the target facing her with a razor-sharp looking knife. 

“Stop!” Rick shouts. The target freezes. “Drop the knife and put your arms above your head, slowly.” The gun makes a thunk when it hits the floor. “Turn around.” The man turns to face him, anger clear on his face.

As soon as his attention is off her, Harley grabs her gun from where it had fallen and whips it across the back of the target’s skull. He crumples, unconscious. 

Rick holsters his gun. “Katana, secure him,” he directs, striding across the room to Harley’s side. The cuts are deep and bleeding freely. Like June, with the glass. 

Rick doesn’t know if he should be more angry or scared.

With jerky movements he yanks the med kit from his back and quickly bandages Harley’s arms.

“What were you thinking?” he demands, waves of adrenaline and fear traveling up and down his spine. He thinks he might be trembling, but the training keeps his hands steady.

“Thinking when?”

“Don't play dumb with me Harley, when you jumped in here. In a few more minutes we would have flushed them out, they would have had no choice but to surrender. You could have been shot! Did you want to die?”

Did June want to die?

“I wasn't thinking like that, silly. I was just having a good time!” Harley tries to wave the question away, rolling her eyes, a bright smile on her face. Rick doesn’t believe her.

“I know this is all some kind of game to you people, but that doesn't mean you have to be stupid about it!”

“I took down those men, didn't I? What's so stupid about that?”

“There are proper ways to do things. This isn't a job for amateurs.”

“Oh, is that what you think we are? Just kids playing at the big boys’ table?” Yes, he thinks, before she continues. “Well, I've got news for you, buddy. We might not have fancy training, but we're not amateurs. No amateur would have survived this long.”

He agrees with that. Soldiers have the training to survive that others don't. The squad might not be traditionally trained soldiers, but they weren't civilians. He glances around at Tatsu and Jones, who has the tightly bound target slung over one shoulder, both of them watching their conversation with unreadable faces.

He looks back at the cuts, can't help but remember the similar ones on June. His breathing is irregular, too quick, and he can't blame it entirely on the siege. He doesn't know how the fuck he's supposed to fix this.

“So it never crossed your mind to wait for backup?” he asks, voice raspy.

“‘Course not.”

What is there to say to that? 

He tightens the last knot. “This conversation isn't over.”

Harley looks put out, but she nods. Good enough.

Rick has a long time to think between then and when they're once more loaded on the plane, the target safely passed over to the military, and he thinks he knows what to say.

Once they're in the air, Rick says, “Gather around.” The squad does so, subdued after the mission. They all look tired, but besides Harley’s arm, there's nothing a good night's sleep won't heal. Even the swelling where Harkness had clobbered him has started to go down, helped nicely by the ice pack the army medic had given Rick while he was stitching Harley’s arm. 

“That was a shit storm,” Rick begins, and is immediately met by growls (from Jones) and complaints (“Oh, come on!” says Harley, while Harkness tells him to fuck off). Lawton just shakes his head while making a triangle symbol with his hands. “Now hold up,” Rick says, holding his hands out for silence. “I'm not saying that we didn't complete the mission successfully. The attack of the compound and capture of the target was well executed. However, it could have gone a lot smoother if any of you knew how to work as part of a team.”

“Oh yeah?” Harkness buts in. “How’s that?”

“A lot less injuries, for one.”

Harkness scoffs at that. “Injuries always happen, mate, it's the nature of the game.”

Rick gives him an are-you-serious look. Lawton says, “It's a fair point.”

“Injuries usually aren't caused because the man left to guard the door bludgeoned his Commander,” Rick rebukes. 

“I didn’t know it was you!” Harkness tries to defend himself. Rick might believe him a little more if he weren't chuckling.

“I'd just radioed to say I was coming up the stairs.”

“Yeah, but it could have been someone else.”

Rick just sighs. Lawton chuckles in disbelief and says, “You’re a dumbass.”

“The point is, none of you have worked as a team before so you don't know how,” Rick resumes, only for Harkness to once more interrupt.

“Hey, I've worked with people before!”

“You killed them all afterwards so it doesn't count,” Rick says.

“Yeah, but I didn’t kill them ‘til after.”

“Seriously, man, what kind of point are you trying to make?” Lawton asks Harkness

“What I'm saying,” Rick says, voice raised to be heard, “Is that a lot of injuries happened that shouldn't have.”

“Like Boomerang hitting you, or me running in without backup and getting sliced up,” Harley says.

“Exactly.”

“Or KC throwing a man on me,” Harkness interrupts. 

Rick glances at Jones who is sitting beside him. He is making a sound which Rick guesses is a laugh, but makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Jesus. He resists the urge to move away.

“Okay, so we all got a little banged up when we shouldn't have. What's the big deal?” Harley asks with a shrug.

“Ya’ll might be called a Suicide Squad, but that doesn't mean you have to act like one.”

That gets him dead silence. Good. He might just be able to get his point through.

“Waller expects you to die before she has to release you according to your contract. It's pretty damn likely that she's going to be right the way things are going. The way you people act is going to get us all killed. But, if we learn to work together and stop taking stupid risks, maybe, just maybe, we'll all get out alive.”

“What do you suggest?” Tatsu asks, surprising him.

“I figure there a couple things we can do. Training, for one. Military maneuvers, gym time, team exercises. And better outfits,” Rick says, waiting for the backlash.

“Outfits?” Harley asks, at the same time Harkness says, “What, are we going to get fucking jerseys and froufrou tutus or some shit?”

“No,” Rick says almost before he hears what they all have to say. He doesn’t question Harkness’s suggestion, but he does hear Jones grumble “Tutus?” Rick continues, “I’m not saying we get matching outfits or camo or anything. I don't give a damn what any of you wear, as long as it isn't a stupid risk. But Kevlar and body armour, so that you're as safe as can be if you have to go into a knife fight, is a must.”

Harley smiles, and he knows that she gets it. “I like it,” she says.

He sits down between Tatsu and Lawton and lets himself relax. Around him, the squad talks away, laughing about outfit possibilities. Lawton nudges him. “Nice speech.”

“Yeah?” he responds quietly, the long day - and more - catching up with him. “Phil Jackson good?”

Lawton snorts. “Hell no. But not bad.”

Rick smiles. He’s so damn tired, and he isn’t sure he'll ever feel okay again, but it's a real smile.


	3. Chapter 3

He sleeps a little, head nodding against his chest, waking if anyone moves or talks loudly. It's enough that he can make the drive home without falling asleep and driving off the road. He makes it home around supper time, and after a quick meal and a long shower he's too tired to do anything, but not tired enough to sleep. He spends a long time staring at the coffee mug still sitting on the counter, but every feeling just builds up inside, the grief and anger and confusion and above all tiredness, and he feels like if he tried it would all tumble over and he'd be buried alive. So he sits on the couch, let's his memories of June swirl around him, and eventually turns on the TV. He falls asleep there, thinking about June doing the same thing. Wishes he could remember her smiling.

He wakes with a crick in his neck, an awful shooting pain that makes him groan aloud. Why had he fallen asleep out here? Stupid idea. He groans again when he stands, and he vows not to do it again. He goes about his morning as usual, eating and washing the dishes, regarding the coffee mug all the while. He decides that if he washes it without really thinking about it he'll be okay. It's just another mug. Nothing special. And so he does. He sets it in the drying rack with a sigh that catches half way through. He hangs his head for a moment, blinks away the tears. He pulls the drain from the sink and watches the soapy water drain away. He wishes the feelings would go with it.

He moves into the bedroom next, stripping the bed and throwing it all in the washer. June's uni sweatshirt sits on top of the dresser. He picks it up, carefully folding it. He should find a box, pack it away. Donate it, or something.

It smells like her.

He ends up clutching it to his chest, shaking, tears running down his face. He's never going to smell her again. Touch her, hold her, see her….

The sweatshirt stays on the dresser.

Waller’s response when he tells her what he wants is silence, then, “Alright, but you're handling all the paperwork.” Rick spends a couple weeks getting all the paperwork in order, and besides two visits to Belle Reve and a handful of trips to Waller’s secure site, Rick doesn’t really leave his apartment. He feels worn, frayed at the edges, and there are dark circles under his eyes due to poor sleep. June is constantly on his mind. He can’t help but think of what could have been different if only….

Within a month Rick has a building on the edge of the airstrip near Belle Reve setup for training. It's an old airplane hangar that hasn't been used in years but is still in decent shape. Leaks in a few places, but nothing that should affect squad use. It's big, and with the addition of some work out mats and other equipment, makes a half decent gym. Lawton, the first one in, seems to think so from the low whistle he let's out. “Not bad, man.”

“You think so?” Rick asks as the others file in. It really isn't much to look at, despite all the effort it took to get it.

“Damn, man, I was expecting like fifteen minutes with the tables pushed out of the way in the cafeteria. This is,” Lawton pauses a moment, looking around the place, dark eyes relaxed. “...pretty damn impressive.”

“Thanks,” Rick drawls. Lawton turns his dark eyes on him, similarly appraising, and Rick doesn’t want to meet his gaze for some reason. He does, never one to back down, even if he isn't sure what not backing down means in this case. Lawton smiles, that tiny real one. 

“Do I want to know what demon you sold your soul to for all this?” Lawton jokes.

“You're assuming I hadn't already sold it.”

Lawton laughs. “Let's me guess, the devil is about 5’2” and wears a skirt?”

“I’m not going to say you're wrong,” Rick says, laughter in his voice. 

All of the squad has entered the building, and Rick is about to call everyone to attention when the door opens one more time, Tatsu slipping in dressed in a normal pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Rick hadn’t expected to see her, but he had sent her a text letting her know what he was doing if she was interested in joining. She wasn't officially part of the squad, but… well she'd been to everything. Maybe like him, she felt she belonged with these people in some way. She certainly didn't owe Waller anything. 

He nods at Tatsu, then walks to the middle of the room. “Okay,” he shouts to be heard. “Let's get started.”

He has a black eye by the end of their first session, but so does Harkness so he counts that as a win. By the end of the second, he's just sore from a bad fall. The weekly sessions keep improving steadily, and Rick finds himself slowly becoming - not comfortable, exactly, nor friendly, but amicable, anyway. The training sessions and weekly visits to Belle Reve are the highlights of his week, which is all kinds of wrong. But his apartment has become a lonely place, and Rick doesn’t have any friends in town. Maybe he should try to contact some old army buddies.

He still isn't sleeping well. Doesn't care, really.

The next mission finds them trekking through a booby trapped and predator filled swamp somewhere in South America for some sort of ancient artifact. They have to tread carefully to avoid ancient booby traps, made difficult by uneven terrain and murky water. It's slow going, and all them - except Jones - are complaining about it. If it's not the slow pace, it's the heat, or the mosquitos, or the sticky uncomfortable dampness spreading up the legs from the swamp water and down the body from the armpit. At least everyone has proper outfits now. Rick doesn’t want to imagine if Harley were here in her old shorts and heels - the leeches would probably eat her alive. Her new costume, based on an old red and black jumpsuit with combat boots, is much better suited to the terrain. But still, she’s currently giving Lawton an earful on the swarm of mosquitos buzzing around their heads. Rick is doing his best to tune her out.

Which isn't hard, actually. He keeps thinking about June - she loved this kind of stuff. Lost ancient treasures, wilderness hiking, seeing new places…. He never got to do any of that with her. But she lit up like a kid at Christmas when she told stories about her archeological trips. Even her last trip, finding Enchantress, couldn't dampen her love for archeology. They aren't anywhere near where June found Enchantress, Rick had checked. Not that it matters - there's nothing left there, Waller had it all stripped. But being in South America, looking for an ancient artifact, all of it is enough to make him think about what could have been. June would have made a good addition to this mission - none of them have much of a clue as to what they are doing. Even without Enchantress, she still could have come along as an expert, like their guide. He would have helped her over some of the bigger fallen trees, hands around her tiny waist, and she would have told him about the culture of the people who left the booby traps. And with Enchantress, if she hadn't of tried to take over the world… well, June would still be here, part of the squad, and so would Diablo. That would be… nice. Not as good as the world where Enchantress is gone from June's head, but still…. 

He isn’t paying as much attention as he should be he realizes as he notices a trap just before he steps on it. His weight triggers it, and the two sides slam shut around his leg, metal teeth digging in. He screams, involuntarily. Goddamn, that hurts. He grits his teeth, eyes screwed shut, and manages to keep from passing out or falling over. Someone takes his arm and puts it over their shoulder, supporting him. He looks over, panting, and meets Lawton’s worried eyes. Shit, this is bad.

Everyone is screaming, even the guide, and his head is spinning, lunch about to be spewed across the ground. “Shut up!” Lawton yells. “Find something to pry this goddamn bear trap open.”

“That's not a bear trap mate,” Harkness says.

“What?”

“There’s gotta be bears for it to be a bear trap,” he says with a shit eating grin. He's right, but this really isn't the time. Rick is pretty sure that Lawton is about to punch him, but Jones lumbers back at that moment with a thick branch. He jams it into the trap beside Rick’s leg and levers it open. Rick lets out a sound that isn't quite a scream or a moan, and lets Lawton maneuver him away from the trap and to the ground. His leg is a hot throbbing sensation that dominates his world, and he'd just really like it to stop. Now.

Lawton pulls the first aid kit from Rick’s vest and tosses it to Harley, who is already kneeling beside Rick’s leg. She makes quick work of cleaning and bandaging his leg, but he doesn't watch. He lets his eyes shut and just lays there, in Lawton’s lap, Lawton’s arms half resting on his chest. 

“You going to be okay to go on?” Lawton asks quietly, head bent close to his ear.

“Fine,” Rick says, uncertain.

Harley snorts.

“I can take you back to base. The mission can go on fine with the rest,” Lawton says. Rick squints at him. Lawton just looks concerned, brow furrowed slightly. He isn’t sure which he trusts less right then - his leg or the squad. 

Before he can respond, Tatsu says, “We all go.” Rick squints at where she is standing over Lawton’s shoulder, surveying the rest. She looks inscrutable like normal, but she probably has a point. The squad should not be left alone, no matter how trustworthy they might seem. Who knows what they could get up to unsupervised, assuming they even decide to return.

No, he has to go with them. He might trust them with his life, but not with much else. He closes his eyes again and nods to show his agreement. Lawton pats his shoulder, and Rick feels comforted.

Rick spends the rest of the mission being passed from shoulder to shoulder, or being left to lean against trees or walls. He's ready to pass out from pain by the end of it, but the rest of the mission goes off without a hitch.

He spends the next few weeks taking it easy. The next mission, which involves breaking into a safe for documents and Harkness finally getting to show his strengths, goes well. Not a single injury. The mission after that, barely a day later, isn't as smooth. Their job is to capture some hot-headed teenage boy with telekinesis. Rick is tired and slow because of his still healing leg, so when he says something – he still isn’t quite sure what – which pisses the kid off, he can't move out of the way of the table which flies at his head fast enough. He spends a few minutes unconscious on the floor, the rest get thrown around, Harkness gets most the bones in his left hand shattered, and the kid wreaks havoc. It's only a lucky shot from Harkness’s boomerang which knocks him unconscious, allowing Tatsu to tie him up and Jones to carry him to the waiting police transport. It's a bit of a shit show.

The next mission is even worse.

They're once again doing the dirty work the government doesn't want to be tied to, except this time their only goal is to completely wipe out a drug cartel which sits just across the border. There are about a hundred of them, all well trained and even better armed. About all the squad has going for them is the element of surprise, so Rick decides their best move is to spend several hours casing the place and making a plan. He sends Harley and Jones one way around the compound, Harkness and Tatsu the other, and he and Lawton stay at a well-hidden vantage point. Rick hopes that by sending them in the pairs that he had, the chatting will be kept to a minimum – both Harley and Harkness have a tendency to talk endlessly at the slightest indication of an audience, whereas Tatsu and Jones… well, they sort of exude a don't talk to me vibe. It's partially effective.

A patrol of five men is making their way around the compound, getting close to Tatsu and Harkness’s location. Rick radios about it, and the two sound stressed, like they'd been arguing. They must continue arguing, because the patrol starts firing on their location. Rick tells them to pull back, and listens over the radio to the firefight. More men pour out of the building, and Rick curses. Tatsu lets out a puff of air as it sounds like she hits the ground, and Rick can hear Harkness yelling in pain. “Boomerang has been shot,” Tatsu reports over the radio, “I can't hold them off.”

Rick curses as he hears voices over the radio ordering his team members to drop their weapons and surrender. “Do it,” he says.

Minutes later and he sees them being led into the compound, Tatsu supporting a stumbling Harkness.

“This just became a rescue mission, we can't use our radios anymore, and we're outnumbered,” Rick summarizes. “What else can go wrong?”

Beside him, Lawton huffs. “You shouldn't have said that.”

He's right. Lawton and Rick are trying to plan when an unfamiliar voice comes over the radio. “I want to speak to the man in charge.” Rick glances at Lawton and finds him already watching him. Rick smiles, grimly.

“Oh, yeah? Well so do I,” Rick drawls.

The man on the radio laughs. “Then we're both in luck. I have no interest in interrogating lackeys, so I propose a trade. If you turn yourself in within the next five minutes I will let both of your people go.”

“Is that so,” Rick says. “And if I don't?”

“Then we'll kill one of them. I really have no need for two people.”

“And what happens to my people after I turn myself over?”

“Tell them to leave and we won't kill them. But if we see anyone else around the base we will shoot to kill.”

“Alright,” Rick agrees.

“Your five minutes starts now.”

Rick stands to walk away, but Lawton catches his arm, stopping him. “What’s the plan?”

Rick shrugs. “I’m turning myself over.”

“You can't be serious.”

“You're in charge. Get everyone to safety, and…” He shrugs, not quite thinking straight. 

“We're not leaving without you - just think about Waller’s reaction.” He winches at that, but he is just as replaceable as the rest of the squad. Waller will let them live. “Think about June.” Rick is busy stripping off all of his weapons, so he has something to focus on instead of her. June is dead. His hands are shaking, slightly. “I’m not leaving you!”

Rick pulls out his medical bag and hands it to Lawton. He looks frustrated, worried. Rick might feel touched if he weren't so goddamn worried himself. “I’m not losing anyone else.”

He starts to walk away from Lawton, intending to approach the compound from a different direction so Lawton’s position won't be compromised. Lawton shouts after him, voice strained, “This is a stupid plan!”

“Then you'll just have to save me from it.”

Rick walks into the compound escorted by ten guards, and five stressful minutes later Tatsu and Harkness leave, Tatsu supporting the much larger man as best she can. Rick’s relief at their release lasts him through five hours of interrogation, featuring the most creative use of an iron he has ever had the misfortune to experience. By the end of the five hours, he hurts. He is covered in second degree burns, and it's all just too much. The pain, June, everything. He doesn’t want to die, he really doesn’t, but he doesn't want to go on like this. Can't. He's staring blearily up at the commander, who is asking him something that he can't hear, the only cool part of his body the tears running down his face. He waits for the next strike, but it never comes. Distantly, there is the sound of gunfire, and then the commander's radio comes to life, and after a brief conversation in Spanish, he leaves.

Rick keeps expecting him to return, as he would make a good bargaining chip, but he never does. The squad ends it too quickly. Within five minutes Lawton strides through the door, and they're out of there.

He doesn’t remember the long walk back to the vehicle they'd left parked a mile out, nor the drive back to the base, except for flashes: Lawton’s long arms wrapped around his waist, Tatsu cursing at Harkness, Harley laughing as she drove, Jones’ outline against the twilight sky. At the base he and Harkness are flown straight to an army hospital, while the others are taken to Belle Reve. He doesn’t learn the full story of the mission until several days later, when he has recovered enough to be able to drive in to Belle Reve. A patrol came across Harkness and Tatsu and shot at her, and probably would have fatally wounded her if not for Harkness’s quick actions of pushing her out of the way. The squad, under Lawton’s leadership, managed to take down the base through the clever use of explosives. 

Rick is proud. 

By the time the next team building day rolls around Rick is in no way ready to train anyone, so he just sits on the edge of a fold-up chair and tells the team to do whatever they like (“Except for you, Harkness, you're still on medical orders to take it easy”). He's surprised when the team grabs chairs and sits in a circle around him, and even more so when Lawton says in a serious voice, “Look, man, we've been talking and there're some things we need to say to you.”

Rick glances around the circle, meeting the eyes of everyone, ending with Tatsu to his left, who gives him a little nod. “Okay,” he says, drawing the word out. “Say what you have to.”

“The thing is, you've been acting kind of…, ah,” Lawton trailed off, scratching his head.

“Reckless,” Harley breaks in.

“Fucking idiotic,” Harkness.

“Hasty,” grumbles Jones.

“Your actions have been poorly considered,” Tatsu agrees.

“To the point of seeming suicidal,” Harley adds, and Rick winces involuntarily at her word choice. He's not… just like June wasn't. Right. “And I should know; loony bin doctor, remember?”

“You're our team leader, we need to know we can trust your judgment. We can't spend all our time rescuing you, right?” Lawton asks with an awkward laugh.

Rick tries to smile back, but knows it doesn't reach his eyes. “I’ll make sure it doesn't happen again; the only person you'll have to save is Harkness.”

That got a genuine laugh as Harkness sputters in anger.

“I know you're not doing this on purpose, man, you're too good a soldier for that. Look, we just want to know what's going on. We care about you.”

There was a general murmur of agreement from the squad. Harkness mutters, “I don’t care,” but Tatsu shoots him a quelling look and says, “We all care.”

Rick’s eyes feel damp, and he clears his throat and readjusts his weight so that he is leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, so that he has time to get the sudden swell of emotion under control. It'd been awhile since he'd been told that. “I care about you all, too.”

“I know,” Lawton says, and when Rick locks eyes with him again, he thinks there is something wistful there. “That’s why you've got to talk to us.”

“It's nothing,” he says, shaking his head and trying to play it off as such, like it wasn't the single worst thing he'd ever been through and he wasn’t always sure that he'd survive it.

“Bullshit: and that's my professional opinion,” snaps Harley.

“If he doesn't want to talk…” Harkness says, beginning to stand. Jones puts one hand on his shoulder, and Harkness sits back down, hands raised. “Alright, alright.”

“You said it yourself: just because we're called a suicide squad, doesn’t mean we have to act like one,” Lawton reminds him.

“Talk,” Tatsu says gently.

“Alright,” he agrees, voice already sounding strained. “What do you want me to say?”

“Just, what's been going on in your head? Did something happen with June? ‘Cause you got this odd look on your face when I mentioned her during the mission.” Rick knows exactly when Lawton means, and suspects that whatever his face was doing then it's repeating now. It all feels like too much.

Rick nods, let's out a few deep breaths. He hasn’t had to tell anyone since the first day. God, he isn't ready for this. “June, uh… she passed a few months ago. Just before Harley returned.”

Silence. Everyone looks shocked.

“Shit,” says Lawton. Rick snorts, ‘cause yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

“What happened?” Harley asks, and there is a gentleness in her voice which Rick hasn't heard before. The concern is nice, but he feels like he could drown in it, wiping away a tear from an already damp eye. Goddammit, he doesn’t want to cry in front of these people. He's not sure they'll respect him afterwards, or that his pride can take it.

“She wasn't in a great spot mentally after…,” he makes a hand gesture, trying to find the word for all the shit June went through, “Enchantress. She didn't keep proper track of her pills, and….”

“Overdosed,” Harley finished, and he can see in her face that she knows there is more to it than that, but she doesn’t say anything. Thank God.

“Yeah.”

“What? That's it? His girlfriend swallowed some pills and now he's moping around like bad shit has never happened to anyone else? Christ,” Harkness complains. Rick doesn’t know how to react, but Lawton looks ready to punch him, so he better figure it out.

“You're right,” he says, and even Harkness looks surprised. “Bad shit happens to all of us and we have to keep going. But if you think for a second that I've just been moping around you need to look around. I've done my job.”

“Yeah, I guess you haven't gotten any more of us killed.” Lawton punches him, a right-hook which lands on Harkness’s jaw with a solid thunk. 

Harkness recoils, one hand pressed against his jaw. “Oy! What was that for?”

Lawton points a single finger at him, fury clear in the tension of his body, the light in his eyes. “You know what that was for. Watch yourself.”

Harkness turns to him, and Rick realizes that he probably should have been doing something more than watching Lawton, the tension in his body, the way he handled the situation. “Are you just going to let him punch me? A squad member? An injured man?”

Rick takes a long considering look at Harkness, looking over his bruised jaw and bandaged arm and lack of remorse for his actions, then switches his gaze to Lawton, who is still visibly angry but meets his gaze steadily, ready for whatever he is going to say. “Yep,” Rick drawls, and then once Harkness has finished spluttering in outrage, continues, “I figure my second in command has the right to discipline as he sees fit.”

Rick is watching Lawton’s face, so he sees the momentary flash of surprise that quickly turns to pride and something like gratitude, but warmer. “Damn straight,” he says, the anger gone, replaced by a slight smile that something in Rick answers, loosening.

“Fuck this,” Harkness grumbles, clearly deflated as he wanders over to the workout equipment. Jones laughs and follows, and the two banter as they start to set up machines.

“Now, as your second in command, it is my duty to tell you that you've got backup for this,” Lawton says, still smiling but something serious lurking behind his eyes.

Rick knows what he means, but he still has to ask. “This?”

Lawton makes a gesture, like he doesn’t quite know, or can't express it. “You know what I mean.”

“Grief,” Harley fills in bluntly. Beside him, Tatsu gives a faint nod.

The smile is gone from Lawton’s face, and he looks vaguely pained. “Whatever, man, we got your back.”

It doesn’t hurt any less, but it does help in some way. Rick doesn’t really know how, but on the way home he feels a little less like he is going to be buried alive under the weight of everything.

He tells Harley as much, the next time he goes to Belle Reve for a general visit. Hell if he knows why, he hadn’t planned on telling anyone, but within five minutes of the beginning of their conversation Rick is trying to surreptitiously wipe tears from his eyes, as he spills everything to Harley. She tells him that what he is feeling is normal, and he's doing a good job coping with the loss, but that he needs to talk to people, to accept that June is gone and while that fucking sucks, he has to find a way to live with it. “There’s no changing the past, Flagy, all you have is the present.”

So he goes home and instead of thinking about what he used to do there with June, he does a hundred push-ups and goes to bed and gets a decent night’s sleep. He does the same the next night, and the night after. He calls up some old army buddies and makes plans to go to a bar. He makes waffles on Saturday morning and cries into the batter, because Jesus Christ this is not the life he imagined for himself after meeting June, he misses her so much, it feels like someone tore out part of his heart, and it's not getting any better. When does it start getting better?

He spends more and more of his time either with the team or doing paperwork, and at least double that driving. One day he looks around his apartment, which he never really liked, at the awkward layout of the kitchen, the too small bathroom, the long commute, the bed where June died, and decides he doesn’t want to live there any longer. He calls June’s mom, the first time since after she drove him to the airport, and she flies out the next weekend to help him pack up June's things.

It’s his turn to pick her up from the airport, and he isn’t certain how to greet her. A hello ma’am, might work, although it feels a little formal. Hello Phyllis? Maybe. And then there is the car ride, they're practically strangers, what will they talk about? Should he have cleaned the apartment better? What will she think of the boxes currently littering the place?

Phyllis solves all this by hugging him as soon as she can get her short arms around him. He just… relaxes, tension gone. He wraps his arms around her and squeezes, eyes shut as people pass around them. “It's good to see you,” she says, and he agrees wholeheartedly.

They talk about Star Wars, of all things, during the car ride.

At the apartment, Phyllis looks around approvingly. “June always said how clean and organized you are,” she says. “We'll definitely need all these boxes. Where do you want to begin?”

He shrugs. It's not like him to back down from anything, but this, this is so intimidating he doesn’t know where to begin. “I don't know.”

Phyllis purses her lips, looking around the place. “Bathroom,” she says decisively. “No one ever cries over hair products.”

She’s not right, not exactly - Rick laughs so hard he cries at a story Phyllis tells about a time when June was a teenager and dyed her hair purple to disastrous results. The trend continues in the living room, bedroom, and kitchen, the two of them telling a story with every object they box up. By the end of it, Rick feels practically high, giddy from all the laughter. He opens the final cabinet and pulls out June’s waffle maker, and all he can remember is the first time she made waffles for him, prancing around in one of his shirts and nothing else, teasing him about, he can’t remember what now. He caresses it, smiling at the memory. Voice breaking, Phyllis says, “I bought her that when she got her first apartment. Oh, my little girl.”

Just like that, the giddiness is gone, pain surging up as sharp as ever to take its place. He thinks about Phyllis, about the pair of pictures on top of her fridge, and asks, “Does it get any easier?”

“No,” she says. “I cry myself to sleep every night.”

“Then how do you go on?”

She wipes away a tear, meeting his equally misty eyes. “You just do,” she says. “You find some reason or someone to go on for, and you do. And eventually you spend more time smiling at their memory than you do crying at their loss.”

Phyllis puts her hands over his on the waffle maker. “Keep it,” she says. “Keep it and make waffles and think of her. I noticed you haven't kept anything else; keep this.”

He nods, something lodged in his throat he can’t quite talk around yet.

“Now,” Phyllis says. “I'm going to go dry my eyes and then you can take me out to supper. We can deal with these boxes tomorrow.”

Phyllis hugs him again when she leaves him to go through airport security. They don't say goodbye, even if they aren't sure if they'll see each other again. Phyllis does call when she arrives back home, though.

At the next team session Rick brings in the waffle maker and makes everyone waffles. It’s nice, Rick thinks, surveying everyone with a smile. 

Weeks pass and Rick steadys, a top no longer threatening to topple at any moment. He misses June, misses the life they had, and the one they could have had, but he’s accepted the loss. 

On the plane somewhere over the Atlantic, headed for their next mission, Rick debriefs the squad. “Listen up! We're stealing this,” Rick holds up the tablet with a picture of a drawing of a box thing, probably several centuries old. “It's some possibly magical artifact with a name I can't pronounce.” Harley laughs at him. “It, along with documents the US government wants for reasons I don't want to think about, are being kept in a secure research facility. Security is good. All security cam footage is streamed off site where it is watched at all times. The government doesn't care if we're seen, and frankly prefers it. Apparently there are rumors that we're a group of aliens stealing all of Earth’s most important artifacts and people.”

The squad all laugh at that. Jones grumbles, “Ridiculous.”

“There's also armed guards and high-tech locks. This is where we have another advantage over US forces. Harkness, the security system is the same as was made for that Colston job you pulled in Sydney. You should be able to manipulate it just as easily.”

Harkness scratches his head in mock deep contemplation, and Rick resists rolling his eyes. “Colston, Colston… not ringing any bells.”

“Really?” Rick asks dryly. “Because you were arrested for stealing several prototypes from them.”

“Pah, that? I was never convicted. Can't say I did it unless I was convicted. I know my rights.”

“You broke out of jail two days before your trial.”

“‘Course! They would have convicted me.”

This time Rick does roll his eyes. “Can you manage the system or not, Harkness?”

“Yeah, ‘course I can.”

“Good. Take Harley and make any prep you need. I've got the schematics here. We're going in at night, so we only have trained guards to deal with, no civilians. No civilian-”

“Now, hold up a sec, Rick” Lawton interrupts. Rick stops, unsure. He's used to most everyone else interrupting him, especially Harkness and Harley, but Lawton always carefully lets him say his piece, and only speaks up after. Like a good second in command. That being threatened now is like being slapped in the face.

“Why do you call the women by their first name but us men by our last?”

Rick blinks. Harley starts cackling madly, flailing her arms in excitement, repeating, “This is going to be good.” He can't help wishing she'd fill him in on what's going on.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Lawton snorts. “Sure you don't.” When Rick glares at him, he relents. “Your entire speech you were calling Harkness Harkness and Quinn Harley. You've been doing that for months. What's with that, man?”

Rick goes back over the conversation in his head. Yeah. Okay. So he had done that. Why did Lawton care?

“Alright. Thanks for bringing this to my attention.” Please don't talk to me about this anymore. He'd been working with the government long enough to know what to say to acknowledge a problem without saying he'd take steps to fix it. Because fuck if he knew how.

Lawton snorts. “Most of us call each other by our first name. We're the only friends we got, at least while we're stuck working for Waller. You've got to decide, man, if you're one of us or just doing your job. None of this half-way bullshit. All of us, or none of us.”

“You think I've been calling Harley by her first name because we're friends?”

Lawton nods. “Something like that.”

Harley laughs. “It's actually really interesting, as a psychiatrist, that you've been doing this.”

He glances over at her wide grin. Yeah. He can tell. “Do me a favour and don't tell me about it.”

He looks back at Lawton and can't look away from the challenging stare in his black eyes. “Y’all want me to call you by your first name?”

There are nods from everyone. Jones says, “I do.”

Harkness grumbles that he doesn't give a fuck, but it's quiet.

“Alright.” 

He locks eyes with Floyd Lawton again. Floyd is smiling slightly, corners of his mouth turned up, laugh lines standing out around his eyes.

What the fuck was he getting himself into.

He didn't want to stop it, whatever it was.

Friends. By God, that felt good. Maybe he'd take the time to figure out what it all meant after this mission, that Floyd was the one to challenge him. For now, they had a job to do.

“Right. Like I was saying, Digger and Harley, go over the security system plans. Everyone else, let's plan a break-in.”

The first stage is to make it past the patrol. They debate taking them out, but decide that any benefits of having a clear exit is outweighed by the negative of a missed check-in notifying the compound before they make it inside. According to Digger, this type of a system is a bitch to break after it's been triggered. They make it past the guards without a hitch, and Digger pulls out a card and has them in the door with a waggle of his eyebrows.

There's one man at the desk, and Floyd shoots him before the door is fully opened. Rick whistles in appreciation of the shot. He can't see his face through his mask, but Floyd gives him a little salute in response.

“Boomer, get to work,” he orders. Digger flips him off and moves to the computer, where he starts, ah, hacking. Presumably. Rick doesn't even know keyboard shortcuts, so he could be playing a video game for all he knew.

Tatsu, Floyd, and Waylon take up positions guarding the doors. He settles in to watch the guard's monitors, while Harley leans over Digger’s shoulder. When he notices, he jumps and calls her a spooky bitch while she cackles. 

“Alright,” says Digger, “I've got the security system shut down, and loops playing for the guards watching the feeds off-site so we don't get company. We can go wherever we bloody well please now.”

“Alright, let's move out.” Rick says, taking point, Floyd coming to his side. They make their way through the facility, taking out guards they come across. The gunshots echo loudly through the long halls, causing others to come running. Thankfully, it's only guards - as Rick had hoped, all the scientists and other civilian personnel have long since left, the sterile labs they pass empty and dark. They kill a half dozen before they reach the centre of the facility, a long hallway containing a series of safes. Digger had already opened the door to the hall in his initial hack, so all that was left was to open the safe containing the artifact and documents they were looking for: 06. Digger sets to work, Harley helping him by holding tools, and shining a light on the underside of the lock. Floyd and Waylon take watch in the hall, with Rick and Tatsu supervising. It's at least a twenty-minute process, but it's a quarter of that before the trouble starts. 

“Does this look like a slotted screwdriver to you? Huh? No! That's because it's not, it's a Phillips screwdriver!” Digger screams.

“Well, excuse me,” Harley says, making flippant motions which jostle the flashlight she's holding. 

“You can't even hold the light still!”

“Damnit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a safe cracker.”

“Stop!” Rick snaps. “Katana, take over,” he orders.

Katana does so quietly, and Harley storms off in a huff to the end of the hall. That's fine; she can cool off in a safe manner there. Rick walks back to the other end of the hall to check in with Croc and Floyd, who shakes his head at him. Yeah, he doesn't get Harley either. That somehow makes Rick feel better.

"All clear out here?" he asks, even though it clearly is. 

Floyd humours him, though, and says, "Yeah, clear as a summer day." 

"I didn't think Gotham got any of those, what with the smog," jokes Rick.

"Bruce Wayne airs the city out once a year. Fourth of July. Gotta see those fireworks, know what I mean?"

"Yeah," he answers, smiling and thinking he has no fucking clue.

He wanders back and forth for the next fifteen or so minutes, exchanging barbs as he goes. It's almost relaxing, honestly. He's got a good feeling about this mission, maybe this will be the first one where nothing goes wrong.

He just finished thinking that when Digger pops the safe, and Rick immediately knows that he thought wrong when he hears him say, "Huh." 

"You need to see this," says Tatsu, but he's already there, leaning over Digger's other shoulder. What he sees isn't the last thing he expected, because that would probably be a baby alien, but what he finds certainly isn't at the top of the list either. Because it's nothing.

The safe is empty.

"We got the right safe, yeah?" he asks, though he's pretty sure that'd be a hard detail to mix up.

"You told me six, you bullock! Unless you got it wrong, this ain't my fault," Digger says, crossing his arms.

But Rick is already shaking his head, pulling out his data pad to double check the file. Six. What the fuck.

Digger is still going. "Who the fuck locks an empty safe, anyway? It don't make any sense."

"Is it invisible?" Tatsu asks.

"Is it invisible?" Digger scoffs, but then he looks over his shoulder at Tatsu like she might be on to something. He reaches out a hand and sweeps it through the safe, and when that yields more nothing, he starts hitting the sides. "For fuck's sake!" he hollers. 

"What's going on?" Harley demands, strutting in from the hall. Rick just shrugs, walking past her into the hall to consult with Floyd.

"You're not going to believe this," he drawls, or at least he begins to, when the door slams shut behind him.

"The fuck," he hisses, trying to open it. It won't. He bangs on the door, then tries the radio. "Boomerang, Katana, Harley, come in."

"We're here," Tatsu answers immediately. He breathes a sigh of relief.

"The door shut itself and won't open. What's going on on your side?"

"Bloody door won't open, that's what's going on," Digger cuts in. "And there's still nothing in the safe."

"Why won't the door open?" Rick asks.

"It's an electronic door, yeah? Someone must be at the control room. You can open or close any door from there, control the whole building, just like we did, if you can remember," snarls Digger.

"Right," he drawls. "Can you fix it?" 

"No!" snaps Digger, clearly tense. “You have to be at the control room."

Rick exchanges a glance with Floyd, then looks at Waylon. "I can," the big man says, then tries yanking the door off its hinges. The metal squeals, but doesn't give.

"It's triple reinforced steel, it wouldn't budge for an elephant," sighs Digger.

Rick considers, then asks, "Can you talk me through how to do it if I were at the control room?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Alright, the three of us are going to the security desk, hang tight."

"Have fun!" sing-songs Harley.

They're about three corridors away when things start to get… odd. It's nothing much at first, just some flickering lights. Rick wouldn't have noticed it, except Floyd points it out. 

"Just a light about to burn out," Rick suggests.

"Maybe, but…" Floyd trails off.

"It's weird," Waylon finishes.

They keep moving, and the lights continue to start flickering as they pass under them. It's a little like something out of a horror movie, one about hauntings or possessions. Rick half expects twin girls to appear around the next corner.

Waylon and Floyd are similarly tense. Waylon starts growling, just loud enough for Rick to hear, making him tense up even more.

Apparently Floyd can also hear it from his place at the front of the group, because he says quietly, "Croc, I can't hear right with you growling like that."

"Sorry," Waylon grunts, and stops.

They turn a corner and walk past one door, Floyd than Rick quickly glancing in the little window as they pass. Another empty lab. Waylon is just passing it when the door opens. Rick spins, and watches as Waylon glances around the door as trained, then walks through. The door slams shut behind him.

"Damnit." Rick tries opening the door, but as expected, it won't budge.

"Croc? Anything in there?" he asks.

"Just me." Through the window, Rick sees Waylon looking around, sniffing. "Nowhere to hide. No other way out."

"Alright," sighs Rick. "Hang tight."

Waylon wishes them luck.

They move off down the hall, and the next door they come to opens. He exchanges a glance with Floyd, and neither of them move. The door closes after a moment, then opens again just as suddenly.

"They're trying to split us up," says Floyd.

"Yep," Rick agrees with a drawl.

"Let's not let them," Floyd says, his tone dead serious. It's sort of a cheesy line that makes Rock think of '80s rock songs, but something about the tone keeps any quips from entering his brain, let alone his mouth. So he just nods and keeps moving.

The corridor ends in a T, one side well lit, the other flickering madly. The well-lit side leads to the control room, which seems odd. He doesn't know much about this hacking shit, but it seemed to him that all the disturbances would be in the areas they were, or that people didn't want them to be in. Unless this was some sort of psychological trick, someone didn't want them going down the flickering path, but didn't care about the control room.

Rick takes a step down the hall with the flickering lights. The light above him explodes in a spray of sparks, and Rick throws up his hands to try and protect his face when he is jerked backwards. Floyd pulling him to safety, he realizes, once he's steady, the other man's hand moving from its hold on the back of his tactical vest to the inside of his arm.

"You good?" Floyd asks, and Rick just nods.

"They're trying to herd us away from something," he says. He watches as Floyd looks down both hallways, figuring out what Rick just had. He wishes Floyd's mask wasn't so covering, so he could see his face and those clever dark eyes work it all out.

"Well, let's go where we're not wanted," says Floyd, and Rick can hear the grin.

They continue like that for two corridors, doors opening and closing wildly and lights exploding, until they turn a corner and Floyd gets shot. Rick's panic is momentary, as Floyd's own bullet connects with the guard a second later, except his doesn't meet Kevlar - it goes in through the eye socket and stays in the brain.

"You alright?" Rick asks, offering a hand to help Floyd up from where he'd stumbled to one knee. Kevlar might stop bullets, but they still hit hard and fast like a baseball pitched by a professional. Rick was impressed that Floyd had only stumbled from a shot at that close of range. He knew that he'd be on the ground.

"Stings," Floyd says laughingly, "But my ex has done worse."

Rick chuckles. He'd met Zoey's mother on Floyd's afternoon visitations. She had a glare that could bowl a man over.

"She knew we were coming," Floyd says, gesturing at the fallen guard. 

Rick considers this. "Makes sense. Can't see how whoever's doing this knows where we are, though. Boomer hacked the system so that the cameras were running looped footage. They shouldn't have eyes on us."

"It's the only explanation for how she got a shot off that fast. She knew when we were coming 'round that corner down to the second."

Rick scrunches up his face. "Boomer, come in," he says into the radio.

Static.

"Boomer."

More static. He exchanges a look with Floyd. "Must have cut off radio somehow."

Floyd shakes his head. "That shouldn't be something they should be able to do from the control room. Unless they have radio jammers, and you didn't mention it."

Rick thinks there should have been an accusatory note there, there used to be an accusatory note there and nothing but mistrust, when had he won over Floyd so completely. He'll think about it later, he decides. That and a lot of other things about Floyd. "It wasn't in the file."

"This is all kinds of messed up," says Floyd.

"A real SNAFU," agrees Rick.

"Wanna keep going?" asks Floyd.

"Yep," drawls Rick.

They check every corner they round first, and come across two more guards. A third comes at them from behind, but Floyd dispatches them before they have a chance to shoot.

At one corner they see a black woman in a lab coat kneeling by the door to a lab. Rick frowns, and motions for Floyd to stand down while he deals with this. Civilians, in Rick's opinion, aren't trained for this shit and therefore shouldn't have a gun pointed at them, let alone fired. They should be left out of it. 

Rick steps around the corner. "Excuse me, Ma'am," he starts, but then notices that she's not kneeling by a door like he'd thought, but a control panel just beside the door. The wires have been stripped. For a second everything stills - the flickering, the doors - then the facility loses power. Rick's already running, and as his eyes slowly start to adjust he can see the white of the civilian's lab coat as she darts into the nearby lab. The power starts up just after he steps foot in the lab, Floyd just behind him, in the doorway probably making sure no guards sneak up behind them. Rick pauses to once more let his eyes adjust.

The woman is already crying. "Please, please don't hurt me," she says.

Rick realizes what they must look like to her: terrorists. The bad guys. They're not, and he tries to reassure her. "We're not going to hurt you, I promise. We're not here to hurt anyone."

"But you've killed people. You killed my friends," she says, voice breaking. She sniffles.

Rick opens his mouth to argue that they were trained guards who would have killed them… but that isn't really an argument. Not to her.

He raises his hands in the air towards her slowly, peacefully, and says, "We're just here for an artifact. It's an old box, made of some sort of metal, maybe one of your colleagues has been working with it ..." Rick trails off as his eyes land on the exact thing he is describing sitting on a workbench, files spread out beside it. He glances back up at the civilian to see that her eyes have followed his to the artifact on the table, and then all hell breaks loose.

Every light in the room explodes, as do the computers and other equipment plugged in around the room. Rick covers his face with his hands. Behind him he hears Floyd let out a sharp groan. He thinks he hears something snap.

The light show goes on, but Rick turns around to see Floyd pinned in the doorway. His forearm is in front of his stomach and what Rick can see of it looks wrong. Probably caught wrong when the door slammed shut. Fuck.

He's beside Rick in two strides, and thinks that maybe he can push it open, like automatic doors at the mall or elevator doors when you're waiting for someone else to get on. But the door won't let up, like the sensors are telling it to close. Like someone is controlling it.

He looks back at the woman. The lights, the doors, even the radio interference, could all be explained by electrical interference. He doesn't know much, but Waller had files about people with special abilities and he'd been reading. There was a twenty something girl who lived with her dad in Arkansas who often caused light bulbs to explode when she was in a temper, and who could change the TV channel if she was touching the right wires and concentrating very hard. The files called her a technopath, if he remembered correctly. 

What they'd been seeing was kinda like what that girl was capable of, but on a whole other level. It would explain why the woman had been touching stripped wires in a control panel. And it would explain the current light show and the door - the civilian was clearly terrified. Where before she had been neatly controlling everything, now she had let emotion take control to protect herself and the artifact.

"Calm down, Ma'am," Rick says. 

"You're going to kill me!" she screams. With it an eyelash station beside the door explodes, sending water everywhere.

Floyd laughs at him, a pained sound. "When the fuck has asking a woman to calm down ever done anything but make her more pissed, man?" He laughs some more. "You know, you're a real idiot sometimes."

"Ma'am, I need you to stop now!" Rick snaps, watching water spray towards Floyd. All it would take was an electrical current to flow the wrong way and…. 

He wasn't losing Floyd. He'd become his best friend since June, and he couldn't lose him. Not Floyd.

"Stop!" he shouts. "I don't want to shoot you!" 

The civilian didn't. Electricity was flowing around her now, playing amongst the curls of her hair and the crooks of her fingers. He took aim at her leg first, then between her eyes when the first shot didn't stop her.

She drops, and with her so do all the lights. When they come back up a second later, she lays still, crumpled on the floor. 

Rick stands, panting. Then he holsters his gun. He turns to Floyd, who is watching him. He walks over and together they push the door open. It isn't hard. After the initial push, the door does the rest of the work, sensors responding to a block in the door's normal path.

Rick pulls Floyd into him, careful of his arm. Floyd hugs back, hard. "You okay?" he asks.

Rick snorts. "You okay?"

"Stings a bit," Floyd says, and Rick wishes he could see his eyes to try and figure out what his voice is doing. Ricks eyes are dry, but he's still breathing heavy.

"We're all okay," he says.

He starts getting out his first aid kit, carefully not looking at the woman behind him. "Boomer, Harley, Katana, Croc, come in," he says into the radio.

"We're here," Tatsu responds, and Waylon says, "Me, too."

"We found what was causing the electrical interference. A technopath. She's been dispatched. We've also located the artifact. Will the doors open now?"

"No," says Boomer, "The - what did you call 'im?"

"Technopath," he hears Tatsu fill in quietly.

"Right, the technopath must have locked the doors. Still going to have to fix that from the control room."

"Alright, we're headed that way," he says.

He wraps Floyd's arm carefully, then puts it in a sling. Neither of them say a word.

Once he finishes putting his first aid kit away, Floyd finally speaks. "You killed a civilian."

"Yeah," he says, and just wishes he could see Floyd's eyes. He needs more time to figure this out, and he needs to be able to see Floyd's eyes. But he won't ask him to show his face, to put his little girl at risk. No matter how much he wants those dark eyes.

"You killed a civilian for me," Floyd states, and Rick nods. Can't deny it.

"Later," he says. Floyd nods.

It isn't the first time Rick has killed a civilian, but at least this time he has the comfort of knowing he did it to save a father, and a friend.

He's had plenty of time to think by the time he makes it back to his new house, a little one-story place close to Belle Reve (very close – he’s fairly certain at least one of his new neighbours works there). The first thing he does when he gets in the door is dial Phyllis. The second is to start mixing the waffle dough, June's little waffle maker heating up while the phone rings once, twice, three times, fo- "Hello?" answers Phyllis' voice.

"Hi Phyllis."

"Rick! It's good to hear from you. How's the new place?"

"Good, good, nearly unpacked. I'm thinking about getting a barbeque for the deck. An old army buddy lives in the area, and he's got one. His little girl asks him to make her a hot dog everyday," he says, chuckling. He hadn't even known Phil was in the area, and probably never would have except his wife had been the one to sell him the new place.

"Oh, that's cute. Drew used to love it when I made spider dogs. He was terrified of the real thing, though," Phyllis laughs. "But before I get carried away down memory lane, why are you calling?"

Rick is silent for a moment, and doesn't bother asking how she'd known he had a reason. She'd probably say mom senses or something. She's amazing like that. "Have you ever considered dating again?" he finally asks.

Phyllis sighs. "Yes. And maybe I will, someday. But… I'm not ready. I had twenty-six years and three kids with John. A lifetime. And right now there isn't room for another man in my life."

Rick is quiet, thinking that over. Spending time with Phyllis made him realize he wants a family, wants people to belong to. Wants to fall in love again. "Rick, have you met someone?" Phyllis asks gently.

"Yeah…" he says slowly. "I think I have."

"June would want you to. She'd want you to be happy."

"Yeah," he says, and his voice breaks, but he doesn't cry.

Several days later and he's standing in an apartment in Gotham. He means to wait just inside the door like usual, but Floyd gestures for him to come in. Rick does, and feels glad that Waller relented to Rick's demands that he be the only one in the apartment during these visits a mission back. He's got a feeling that Floyd is going to hold him to that talk he said they'd have, and they don't need an audience.

"Zoe, you remember Rick," Floyd says, picking his daughter up in a big bear hug.

"Yeah, hi Rick!" she says with a wave.

"Hi," he says with a nod.

"Do you think we should invite him to play Old Maid?"

"Yeah, it's way better with more people!"

And that's how Rick is declared an old maid three times in a row. He's pretty sure Floyd's taught Zoe to cheat, but can't figure out how she's doing it.

Hours later Rick and Floyd are making spaghetti while Zoe works on a school project in the living room. It's June, and she'll be done school for the summer soon. Rick is grating cheese while Floyd stirs the tomato sauce. His mouth hurts, he realizes suddenly, from all the smiling he's been doing.

He doesn't stop smiling when Floyd turns to him and says, "About the last mission," because he can see his eyes, and they're open and trusting.

Never one to back down from a challenge, he says honestly, "I couldn't let you die."

Floyd stops stirring the sauce. "Why not?"

Rick follows his lead and puts down the cheese, turning to face Floyd. "I can't lose anyone else, not after June." He can see the pain Floyd feels for his loss clearly in his eyes, the little downturn at the corner of his mouth. "And you're my best friend."

"Is that all I am?" Floyd asks, and this is it. Rick reaches out and cradles Floyd's face in his hands, watches those dark eyes watch him, leans in, and kisses him. Floyd kisses back, hard, and pulls Rick closer, hands on his hips.

Rick pulls away briefly to say, "You know it's not." Floyd chuckles against his lips, and Rick feels a quiet hope for the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for all the kind coments! I think of them often.
> 
> There is now an AU to this story, you can check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22954969.


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